Tales  of  B^wdoin 


Some  Gathered  Fragments  and 
Fancies  of  Undergraduate  Life 
in  the  Past  and  Present 


TOLD    BY  BOWDOIN   MEN 


Collected  and  Published  by 

JOHN  CIvAIR  MINOT,  '96 

DONAI/D  FRANCIS  SNOW,  '01 


ILLUSTRATED 


AUGUSTA,  MAINE 

PRESS  OF  KENNEBEC  JOURNAL 

I9OI 


Copyright,  1901 

BY 

John  Clair  Minot 
Donald    Francis    Snow 


TO    TH^    Ml^MORY   OlP 

ElvIJAH    KELI^OGGj 

A   LOYAL   AND   RKVDRKD   SON   OF   BOWDOIN^ 

WHO 

ce:i,e;bratf,d  his  alma  mati:r  in  story^ 

honored  her  by  a  lilpe  of  practical  piety, 

and  won  the  hearts  of  her  boys,  his  brethren, 

this  volume 

is  gratefully  inscribed. 


M4475i 


PRErATORY   NOTE 

TO  those  in  whose  hearts  Bowdoin  College  holds  a  place 
the  publication  of  this  volume  requires  little  excuse 
or  explanation.  To  others  its  existence  can  be  but  a  matter 
of  small  concern.  We  give  it  to  its  readers  in  the  confident 
hope  that  no  Bowdoin  man  of  any  time  can  read  its  pages 
without  finding  much  to  interest  him,  to  stir  the  memories 
of  his  own  undergraduate  days  and  to  bind  him  closer  to  his 
Alma  Mater.  Many  of  the  contributions  are  truthful  remi- 
niscences; some  are  stories  based  upon  actual  happenings, 
and  a  few  are  woven  by  the  shuttle-play  of  the  imagination 
around  scenes  familiar  and  dear  to  us  all.  Some  are  long 
and  some  are  short ;  some  serious  and  others  in  lighter  vein. 
But  all  are  tales  of  Bowdoin,  with  something  of  the  college 
color  and  something  of  the  college  atmosphere  which  can 
only  be  fully  appreciated  by  those  who  have  known  those 
halls  and  campus  paths  and  who  have  heard  the  whispering 
of  the  pines. 

It  is  not  to  be  claimed  that  this  book  is  complete  or 
exhaustive.  Many  and  many  a  theme  of  great  possibilities 
is  not  touched  upon  in  its  pages  and  many  a  Bowdoin  story- 
teller is  as  worthy  a  place  in  such  a  work  as  are  any  of  the 
thirty  whose  contributions  herein  appear.  It  may  be  that 
this  volume  is  but  a  beginning,  and  that  other  collections  of 
Bowdoin  tales  will  be  published,  finding  a  place  in  the 
library  of  every  Bowdoin  man  and  giving  pride  and  pleasure 
to  every  Bowdoin  heart. 


TALES    OP    BOWDOIN 

The  collection  of  these  stories  and  sketches  and  their 
publication  have  been  to  us  a  source  of  much  enjoyment. 
Encouragement  has  met  us  on  every  hand  and  the  most 
sympathetic  assistance  uniformly  has  been  ^ven  us.  We 
take  this  opportunity  to  express  our  deep  appreciation  of  the 
generous  interest  taken  in  the  work  by  those  whose  con- 
tributions to  its  pages  have  made  the  volume  what  it  is. 
Only  their  loyal  cooperation  made  its  appearance  possible. 
And  we  wish  to  express  our  gratitude  to  the  great  body  of 
alumni  and  undergraduates  and  the  many  friends  whose 
cordial  support  made  the  undertaking  a  success.  We  wish 
particularly  to  acknowledge  our  obligation  to  Roy  Leon 
Marston,  '99,  who  drew  the  cover  design  which  adds  so 
materially  to  the  attractiveness  of  the  volume. 

John  Clair  Minot,  '96, 

Augusta,  Me. 

Donald  Francis  Snow,  '01, 

Bangor,  Me. 
June  I,  1901. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Chums  at  Bowpoin i 

Edward  A.  Rand,  '57 
The  Borrowing  of  Pres.  Cheney's  Bust 19 

A  Phi  Chi  of  '67 
A  Tale  of  Two  Freshmen 29 

Henry  Smith  Chapman,  '91 
St.  Simeon  Stylites 55 

Kenneth  C.  M.  Sills,  '01 
When  the  Self-Sender  Walked  Home 67 

C.  A.  Stephens,  '69 
Told  Again 81 

Arlo  Bates,  '76 
The  Hazing  of  Stumpy  Blair 95 

Fred  Raymond  Marsh,  '99 
The  May  Training loi 

Thoimas  B.  Reed,  '60 
Lost :     Love's  Labor iii 

Wehb  Donnell,  '85 
In  the  President's  Room 127 

Henry  S.  Webster,  '67 
The  Story  of  a  Bowdoin  Story-Teller 139 

IVilmot  B.  Mitchell,  '90 
The  Education  of  Jacob  Shaw 163 

Franklin  C.  Robinson,  '7Z 
A  Smoke  Talk  in  No.  7 189 

Clarence  B.  Burleigh,  '87 
How  Triangle  Won 207 

Thomas  LittleHeld  Marble,  '98 


TALES   OF    BOWDOIN 

PAGE 

At  the  Altar  of  Tradition 217 

George  Brinton  Chandler,  '90 
Indian  Pudding 229 

John  Alexander  Pierce,  '01 
A  History  and  tpie  Reasons  for  it 2^7 

Edzvard  C.  Plummer,  '87 
The  Old  Delta 249 

Albert  V/.  Tolman,  "88 
Bowdoin  Under  Fire 261 

Charles  A.  Curtis,  '61 
An  Inquisition  of  1835 275 

James  Plaisted  Webber,  '00 
Random  Recollections  of  1871-5 281 

Christopher  H.  Wells,  '75 
John  Ferris,  Graduate 297 

Edgar  O.  Achorn,  '81 
Diogenes  307 

Henry  L.  Chapman,  '66 
The  Rival  Fullbacks 317 

Henry  A.  Wing,  '80 
Bowdoin's  First  Great  Boat-Race 331 

D.  A.  Robinson,  '73 
A  College  Girl's  Belated  Ideal 347 

Frank  Warren  Hawthorne,  '74 
One  Night  in  June 369 

John  Clair  Minot,  '96 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

The  Central  Path Frontispiece. 

Phi  Chi,  '73 20 

The  Campus  on  a  Winter  Morning 38 

Memorial  Hall    57 

The  Summer  Foliage 96 

The  Great  American  Traveler 128 

Elijah  Kellogg 157 

The'  Searles  Science  Building 171 

The  Interior  of  the  Chapel 198 

In  the  Fall  of  1888 221 

The  Old  Delta 252 

Massachusetts  Hall   277 

The  Abode  of  Diogenes 309 

An  End  Play  on  the  Whittier  Field 320 

A  Class  Race  on  the  Androscoggin 337 

The  Walker  Art  Building 372 


INTRODUCnON 

BOWDOIN  College  has  been  preeminent,  not  as  a  writer 
of  books ;  not  even  as  a  trainer  of  scholars ;  but  as  the 
mother  and  maker  of  men :  men  of  personality  and  power 
and  public  leadership.  The  secret  of  this  marvellous  pro- 
ductivity is  not  to  be  discovered  in  laboratory  or  library ;  it 
is  not  printed  in  the  Catalogue,  or  published  in  the  Presi- 
dent's Report ;  it  was  never  formulated  in  a  faculty  vote,  or 
betrayed  to  the  listener  by  the  whispering  pines.  The  story 
of  student  life  must  tell  it  if  it  is  ever  told  at  all.  The 
college,  therefore,  welcomes  the  present  volume  as  a  revela- 
tion of  the  spirit  which  here  has  been  at  work  to  make  her 
sons  the  men  they  have  become.  That  spirit  is  the  spirit 
of  freedom. 

We  have  had  two  distinct  theories  of  college  life:  one 
that  of  Presidents  McKeen,  Appleton,  Allen  and  Harris, 
and  the  great  Professors  Packard,  Smyth,  Newman,  Cleave- 
land  and  Upham,  which  treated  students  as  boys  under 
parental  discipline.  This  theory  was  never  an  entire  suc- 
cess, according  to  the  standards  and  expectations  of  its 
advocates.  The  seven  other  devils,  worse  than  the  first, 
were  always  forthcoming  to  occupy  the  chambers  which 
were  swept  and  garnished  by  "the  Executive  Government." 

Yet,  these  founders  of  our  academic  tradition  builded  bet- 
ter than  they  knew;  for  in  the  grotesque  aspect  of  police- 
men, patrolling  the  campus  by  day  and  chasing  miscreants 
by  night ;  and  in  the  more  dubious  role  of  detectives  scent- 


TAI,ES   OF    BOWDOIN 

ing  out  deviltry  in  Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  as  the  ends  of 
Winthrop  Hall  used  to  be  called;  sifting  the  evidence  in 
solemn  conclave  at  Parker  Cleaveland's  study;  and  meting 
out  formal  admonitions  and  protracted  rustications  to  the 
culprits;  these  grave  professors  were  lending  to  mischief 
just  that  dash  of  danger  which  served  to  keep  the  love  of  it 
alive. 

President  Woods,  whose  administration  was  contempo- 
raneous with  the  latter  stages  of  this  boisterous  boyhood  of 
the  college,  was  wise  enough  to  appreciate  the  worth  of  this 
then  deprecated  side  of  student  life.  In  his  mild  and  charit- 
able eyes,  robbed  hen-roosts,  translated  live  stock,  greased 
blackboards  and  tormented  tutors,  were  indeed  things  to  be 
perfunctorily  deplored;  but  they  were  not  deemed  speci- 
mens of  total  depravity,  or  cases  of  unpardonable  sin :  nor 
was  he  as  insistent  upon  meting  out  a  just  recompense  of 
reward  to  the  culprits,  as  his  more  strenuous  colleagues 
thought  he  ought  to  be.  This  mingling  of  austerity  on  the 
part  of  the  faculty  which  made  mischief  of  this  sort  worth 
doing,  with  extreme  leniency  on  the  part  of  the  President, 
which  insured  immunity  from  serious  penalty,  made  the 
college  from  1839  to  1866  probably  the  best  place  there  ever 
was  in  the  world  for  boys  to  be  boys,  and  to  indulge  that 
crude  and  lawless  self  assertion  which  was  the  only  avail- 
able approach  which  the  colleges  of  that  day  afforded  to 
manly  courage  and  ordered  independence.  With  such  a 
stimulus,  what  wonder  that  here  were  reared  Hawthorne, 
Longfellow,  Abbott,  Pierce,  Cheaver,  Stowe,  Prentiss,  Ham- 
lin, Bartol,  Smith,  Hale,  Evans,  Andrew,  Abbott,  Frye, 
Fuller,  Howard,  Chamberlain,  Smyth,  Webb.  Reed,  Hub- 
bard and  Putnam.  Elijah  Kellogg  was  the  consummate 
flower  of  such  a  regime ;  and  "Phi  Chi"  gives  it  appropriate 
immortality  in  song. 


INTRODUCTION 

In  later  years,  the  improved  laboratory  facilities  and 
increasing  use  of  the  library ;  the  introduction  of  the  elec- 
tive system,  and  the  advent  of  athletics;  have  given  the 
students  a  free  life  of  their  own.  Hence  the  sphere  of  arti- 
ficial freedom  which  they  formerly  carved  out  for  them- 
selves, and  which  all  save  the  genial  Woods  so  deeply 
deplored,  is  no  longer  an  educational  and  spiritual  necessity 
to  them.  The  students  to-day  are  as  free  as  they  ever  were ; 
but  it  is  a  freedom  in  the  life  of  the  college,  rather  than 
against  it.  Resistance  is  as  necessary  to  the  development 
of  character,  as  friction  to  the  motion  of  a  railway  train; 
but  the  student  now  finds  his  resistance  in  the  generous 
rivalry  of  fraternities;  in  the  difficulties  of  self-chosen  and 
congenial  studies ;  and  the  prowess  of  athletic  teams  from 
other  institutions. 

Faculty  and  students  now  sing  "Phi  Chi"  together,  with  a 
common  reverence  for  the  boyhood  of  the  college,  and  a 
common  consciousness  that,  for  the  most  part,  childish 
things  are  put  away.  To  be  sure,  the  faculty  still  occasion- 
ally is  obliged  to  appeal  from  Philip  drunk  to  Philip  sober ; 
from  passing  student  caprice  to  the  permanent  student  aims 
and  ideals.  Yet,  even  in  the  rare  cases  where  serious  dis- 
cipline is  necessary,  the  student's  class-mates  or  fraternity 
friends  are  consulted ;  and  almost  invariably  their  honest 
judgment  either  modifies  the  faculty  action,  or  else  acqui- 
esces in  the  faculty  decision.  Students  have  become  more 
mature  and  manly  as  a  greater  sphere  of  freedom  has  been 
placed  within  their  reach;  and  the  professors,  instead  of 
exercising  lordship  over  their  private  affairs,  are  rather,  as 
St.  Paul  says,  "helpers  of  their  joy." 

These  stories  happily  bind  together  the  old  life  and  the 
new  by  the  common  bonds  of  youthful  enthusiasm,  hearty 


." 


TALKS   OF    BOWDOIN 

good    fellowship,    and    true    academic    freedom,    running 
through  them  all. 

As  the  graduates  of  former  years  here  refresh  their  mem- 
ory of  what  the  college  did  for  them,  I  am  sure  they  will 
offer  anew  the  tribute  of  Henley's  "Matri  Dilectissimae 

••The  stars  shine  as  of  old.    The  unchanging  River, 
Bent  on  his  errand  of  immortal  law, 
Works  his  appointed  way 
To  the  immemorial  sea. 

And  the  brave  truth  comes  overwhelmingly  homer- 
That  she  in  us  yet  works  and  shines, 
Lives  and  fulfils  herself, 
Unending  as  the  river  and  the  stars. 

"Dearest,  live  on 
In  such  an  immortality 
As  we,  thy  sons, 
Born  of  thy  body  and  nursed 
At  those  wild,  faithful  breasts. 
Can  give— of  generous  thoughts. 
And  honorable  words,  and  deeds 
That  make  men  half  in  love  with  fate ! 
Live  on,  O  bi-ave  and  true, 
In  us,  thy  children." 


a^^^^s^^'^c^^^.^ 


TALES  or  BOWDOIN 


CHUMS  AT  BOWDOIN 

Edward  A.  Rand,  '57 


CHUMS  AT  BOWDOIN 


Chapte:r  I. — In  Coi.i.e:ge 

WHAT  a  marvel  was  that  night!  It  was  a  February 
evening  when  Goodwin  Smith,  at  the  close  of  a  win- 
ter's school,  reached  the  college  yard  again.  The  snow  was 
deep.  One  dead  mass  of  white  was  before  him.  Down 
upon  it,  the  moon  that  seemed  to  be  more  than  at  the  full, 
poured  a  flood  of  silver.  A  "dead  mass,"  did  I  say? 
Where  the  moonlight  fell,  it  kindled  death  into  life.  Upon 
that  silvery  whiteness,  all  the  trees  had  left  the  impress  of 
their  forms  as  if  in  a  wonderful  rivalry  of  effort  to  get  the 
most  distinct  shadow  possible.  Not  a  twig  but  left  its  black 
print  upon  the  snow.  Not  a  breath  of  wind  stirred  the 
trees  to  confuse  the  fine  tracery  of  these  shadows.  Over- 
head, the  stars  had  swung  out  their  torches  for  their  cus- 
tomary procession,  though  not  so  vivid  as  on  moonless 
nights. 

''There  is  Orion!"  said  Goodwin.  Yes,  the  hunter  was 
out  with  his  dogs,  while  timid  Lepus  was  trying  to  shrink 
away  in  the  vivid  moonlight.  One  almost  expected  to  hear 
a  blast  from  the  hunter's  horn,  and  would  Sirius  bark  in 
faithful  response,  and  Procyon  bay  in  the  distance?  "There 
is  Regulus !"  said  Goodwin.  This  brilliant  gem  that  for 
centuries  had  been  upon  the  handle  of  Leo's  silver  sickle, 
was  still  faithfully  ornamenting  it.  Not  far  away,  the  white 
bees  that  Pliny  watched,  were  clustered  in  Praesepe, 
refusing  to  let  go  their  ancient  hold  upon  the  ancient  hive. 
A  I 


tai,e:s  of  bowdoin 

Below  this  wonderful  beauty,  rose  out  of  the  snow  in 
prosaic  stiffness  the  old  college  buildings,  Massachusetts 
Hall,  Winthrop  Hall,  Maine  Hall,  Appleton  Hall,  so  many 
in  their  very  name  declaring  that  they  were  of  a  beloved 
Massachusetts  origin  and  so  closely  akin  to  Harvard.  In 
form,  they  were  sugar-boxes,  but  whether  their  contents 
were  saccharine,  time  alone  could  show. 

Box  succeeded  box,  structures  that  were  monotonous 
masses  of  length,  breadth  and  height,  but  what  a  breaking 
of  the  stiff,  prosy  line  there  was  in  the  upward  cHmbing 
roof,  the  upspringing,  soaring  towers  of  the  new  King 
Chfcpel,  that  noble  expression  of  Christian  aspiration,  that 
strong  symbol  of  a  faith  that  has  foundations. 

"I  must  go  there  and  stand  on  the  Chapel  steps !"  thought 
Goodwin. 

The  slender,  beshawled  figure  tugged  along  a  big,  old- 
fashioned  carpet  bag  that  would  bump  against  his  slender 
legs.  He  puffed  by  the  motionless  black  shadows  on  the 
white  snow,  each  seeming  to  say,  "Look  this  way!"  No, 
he  wanted  to  see  something  else.  He  stood  on  the  Chapel 
steps  and  looked  up. 

Orion  was  still  out  in  the  silent,  silver  chase.  Leo  curved 
his  gemmed  sickle,  and  around  the  hive  in  Cancer  clustered 
the  white-winged  bees.  Between  those  starrv  heights  and 
the  snow,  was  the  flow  of  glorious  moonlight.  The  soul 
of  the  student  was  thrilled.  He  shivered  in  the  cold  but 
he  could  not  leave  the  spot.  He  did  not  forp-et  that  behind 
him  was  the  Chapel  of  granite.  He  had  never  seen  such 
a  structure  before  his  student  life  at  Bowdoin.  He  had 
lately  read  Ruskin's  ''Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture,"  and 
was  never  tired  of  an  attempt  to  interpret  the  symbolism 
of  this  Chapel  of  stone,  whose  towers  pierced  the  infinite 
blue  and  whose  foundations  went  down  to  the  Immutable. 

2 


CHUMS   AT   BOWDOIN 

Some  of  the  windows  were  pieces  of  brilliant  shading.  He 
had  been  accustomed  to  the  small  squares  of  colorless  glass 
in  the  old  New  England  meeting  houses,  and  their  only  duty 
was  to  stand  as  receivers  and  let  the  glare  of  the  sunshine 
through.  These  panes  of  rich  staining,  to  his  sensi- 
tive imagination,  not  only  received  but  flamed  into  scrolls  of 
fiery  prophecy,  or  poetry,  and  they  always  had  a  message. 
While  not  remarkable  as  pieces  of  art-work,  they  marked 
him.  His  friend  Paiseley  Gore,  the  Sophomore,  found  him 
one  day  in  the  college  library  facing  a  window  of  warm, 
rich  color,  and  he  was  saying  over  a  bit  of  Keats'  "Eve  of 
St.  Agnes :" 

"And  diamonclecl  with  panes  of  quaint  device, 

Innumerable  of  stains  and  splendid  dyes, 

As  on  the  tiger-motli's  deep-damasked  wings." 

"You  little  booby!"  said  Paiseley  the  practical.  "They 
won't  bring  you  bread." 

Goodwin  tried  to  say  these  lines  that  night  out  on  the 
Chapel  steps,  his  teeth  chattering  away,  but  the  "t-t-tiger- 
moths"  tripped  him  up. 

Some  one  passed  him,  and  a  second  student  came  up  to 
the  first  and  called  out,  "Say,  Tom,  have  you  seen  Goodwin 
Smith?  He  expected  to  arrive  about  this  time  and  I  have 
been  hunting  him  up,  this  hour." 

The  big  carpet  bag  on  the  Chapel  steps  stirred  quickly 
and  the  Freshman  followed  it.     "Here  I  am,  Paiseley!" 

"There,  there!     So  you  be!     Goody^  how  are  ye?" 

The  next  moment,  Goodwin  felt  gratefully  the  folds  of 
an  immense  shawl  going  about  him.  In  those  days,  shawls 
were  included  in  men's  furnishing  goods.  Every  student 
wore  a  shawl,  generally  of  a  light  blue  or  gray  shade.  The 
effect  was  peculiar  when  they  flocked  after  prayers  out  of 
the  Chapel,  their  shawls  fluttering  in  the  wind.     Had  the 

3 


TAI,i;S    Olf   BOWDOIN 

shawls  been  red,  it  would  have  seemed  as  if  a  lot  of  flam- 
ingoes with  flapping  wings  had  been  let  loose  into  the  college 
yard.  If  Paiseley's  shawl  had  been  red  that  night,  it  could 
not  have  been  warmer. 

"Let  me  take  that  bag !  There  !  Let  me  have  it — mind ! 
I'm  so  glad  to  see  you !"  Big  Paiseley  gave  him  a  bear 
hug.     "I've  been  out  twenty  times  looking  for  you." 

"I — am  ever  so  glad  to  see  you.  I — just  wanted  to  get 
the  eitect  on  those  steps — effect  of  the  moonlight — " 

"Oh,  fiddlesticks !  Sentiment !  You'll  die  of  it.  It  will 
freeze  you.     Now  you  come  to  my  room." 

They  vsat  awhile  before  the  open  fire  in  one  of  those 
hospitable  Franklin  stoves  of  a  previous  generation. 

"I'll  just  thaw  you  out  first,  young  man.  I  got  your 
letters  all  right.     You  liked  your  school." 

"Oh,  yes." 

"And  the  place  where  you  boarded?" 

"The  Fellows',  Deacon  John  Fellows?  Oh,  yes.  They 
were  very  kind  to  me,  as  to  you  when  there  last  winter." 

Paiseley  wanted  to  ask  about  the  deacon's  daughter, 
Mattie.  His  heart — this  was  the  heart  of  Paiseley,  not  the 
deacon — was  a  heart  that  was  a  locket  carrying  the  image 
of  the  deacon's  daughter,  a  beautiful  girl.  He  never  had 
confessed  it  to  Goodwin.  It  v/as  a  locket  that  never  had 
seen  the  daylight.  He  did  want  to  say  one  word  about 
the  girl. 

He  hesitated.  He  began.  He  stammered  as  if  in  the 
cold  he  also  stood  on  the  Chapel  steps.  "Did  M — M — Mat- 
tie — "     He  stopped. 

He  began  again  and  as  he  began,  a  warm,  guilty  blush 
overspread  his  features. 

"Did  M— Mattie  go  to— to— school  ?" 

4 


CHUMS   AT   BOWDOIN 

His  ears  were  also  burning.  The  locket  was  now  open 
before  the  returned  schoolmaster  and  Paiseley  knew  it. 

"Oh,  yes!"  said  Goodwin,  and  he  too  stammered.  "And 
she  was  a  g-g-good  scholar.  I — I  had  a  kind  of  f-fancy 
she  might  like — ker — you  !" 

Goodwin  was  now  blushing.  The  two  guilty  men  lifted 
their  eyes  and  for  a  moment  faced  one  another. 

"What  a  botch  I've  made  of  it!"  thought  Goodwin. 
"Paiseley  loves  that  girl.     How  red  he  is !" 

"He  is  dead  in  love  with  that  girl,"  thought  Paiseley, 
eying  the  Freshman's  heat.     "Well,  I  won't  interfere." 

Paiseley  was  glad  to  rise,  glad  to  drop  the  whole  tribe 
of  "Fellerses,"  as  people  in  that  town  called  them,  and  he 
said  to  Goodwin,  "Now  we  will  have  a  change.  First,  I'll 
lock  up." 

He  went  to  the  door  and  carefully  sprung  the  lock.  Then 
he  drew  a  big  screen  before  the  door.  Thin  indeed  was 
the  screen,  but  it  looked  thick  as  the  Chinese  wall  sketched 
upon  it,  and  the  world  seemed  far  away  as  the  twentieth 
century  from  Old  Cathay.  He  went  to  the  windows,  and  let 
the  heavy  folds  of  the  red  curtains  cover  the  old-fashioned 
panes.  He  went  to  the  wood-closet.  Ah,  what  old  time 
treasures  were  in  it! 

"Goodwin,"  called  out  Paiseley,  "I  have  a  splendid  bed 
of  red  oak  coals  already  there,  and  now  will  you  have  some 
rock  maple — sound  to  the  core  and  heavy — or  birch  covered 
with  Californy  gold?" 

"It's  a  cold  night.     Bring  out  both  kinds." 

"There,"  said  Paiseley,  "I  like  to  see  it  burn." 

"Yes,  the  rock  maple  has  white  wings  of  flame  and  the 
yellow  birch  wings  of  old  gold,  say  a  little  tawny.'" 

"Sentiment!" 

5 


TALi:S   OF  BOWDOIN 

"And  it  talks,  an  open  wood  fire  does.  The  maple  purrs 
softly  like  a  cat,  and  the  red  oak  sobs  and  weeps  like  Niobe." 

"Sentiment  agin!  You  mean  'tis  wet  and  it  sizzles. 
Now  we'll  have  something  practical.  Have  vou  been  to 
supper  ?" 

"N-no.  I've  got  some  c-c-crackers."  Goodwin  was  one 
who  sometimes  for  economy's  sake  "boarded  himself."  A 
cracker  looked  more  cheerful  than  a  landlady's  bill,  or  a 
club  demand. 

"Young  man,  if  you  say  crackers  again,  I'll  crack  you. 
See  here!  A  little  legerdemain!  What  will  you  have, 
chicken  for  two?     That  means  two  chickens.    Presto!" 

He  lifted  a  table  cloth  frorn  a  tin  kitchen  before  the  fire. 

"There,  I  got  my  landlady  to  fix  these  for  me,  tender 
and  sweet,  you  know,  and  I've  been  trying  to  keep  them 
warm^ — just  roasted — and  I  thought  you  never  would 
come — " 

"Paiseley,  the  Magnificent,  but — Paiseley!  Did  you 
abstract  these  from  a  Bunganock  roost?" 

"No,  sir !  We  call  that  stealing  at  home,  and  it  ought  to 
be  called  stealing  in  college.  I  believe  in  one  code  of  obli- 
gations for  home  and  college,  one  code  for  man  and  woman, 
one  code  for  Sophomores  and  Freshmen,  ^.A  so  we  will 
waive  all  class  distinctions  and  eat  together.  And  another 
thing,  young  man,  I  want  you  to  stay  in  Gomorrah  to-night 
and  be  my  guest." 

"Oh,  I  must  go  to  my  room.  You  know  my  fire  is  built, 
as  you  kindly  said  you  would  build  it." 

"I — I — know  I  did,  and  I  went  round  to  Sodom  and 
looked  into  your  room  and  it  did  look  so  cold — " 

He  might  have  added  "so  poor  and  bare  and  homesick." 
Goodwin  was  poor,  and  he  had  not  reached  the  level  of 
Montaigne's  philosophy  so  as  to  appreciate  any  advantage 

6 


CHUMS   AT   BOWDOIN 

from  indigence.  Life  with  him  was  Huxley's  "struggle  for 
existence."  It  was  evident  in  the  scant  furnishings  of  that 
room.  In  comparison,  how  full  of  luxurious  comfort  was 
Paiseley's  room  in  the  other  end  of  the  college,  Gomorrah. 
Paiseley  was  the  son  of  a  wealthy  farmer  and  his  furniture 
had  cost  enough  to  equip  half  a  dozen  rooms  like  Good- 
win's. Besides  this,  Freshman  housekeeping  is  an  experi- 
ment. It  never  can  equal  the  ease  and  comfort  of  the 
Sophomore's  furnishings  that  show  a  stage  of  completeness 
always  accompanying  prolonged  good  housekeeping. 

But  Paiseley  was  speaking  again  and  in  reply  to  Good- 
win's plea  that  he  had  no  Livy  with  him  and  must  go  to 
his  room  to  study  that  classic  and  the  time  of  recitation 
would  be  that  barbarism,  the  hour  before  breakfast. 

"See  here,  young  man !  Thoughtful  as  ever,  I  brought 
your  Livy  over  here.  So  you  can  get  your  lesson  here. 
Then  in  the  morning,  an  agreeable  surprise  will  be  furnished 
Uncle  Tommy.*  There  will  be  a  recitation  from  his  prom- 
ising pupil,  Goodwin  Smith — " 

"Nonsense!"  > 

"No  interrupting  rem.arks,  young  man !  All  out  of  place 
here !  Let  me  smother  that  tongue  with  more  chicken. 
There!  Now  you  keep  quiet  and  be  comfortable.  You 
will  have  a  good  night's  rest  and  be  up  in  time  for  prayers 
before  recitation.     Old  Dif  will  wake  us." 

"You  have  him  now?" 

"Yes,  or  he  has  me.  He  came  in,  this  morning.  He 
built  my  fire  and  bowed  his  stovepipe  hat  to  it  as  if  wor- 
shiping some  Persian  divinity.  I  was  awake  and  saw  him. 
Thinking  I  was  asleep,  he  came  to  wake  me  up,  and  tapped 

*The  beloved  Prof.  Thos.  C.  Uphara. 

t  Diogenes,  the  nick-name  of  Curtis,  the  gray  haired  hermit  who  served 
the  students. 


TALES    O^   BOWDOIN 

on  my  bedpost  with  a  bunch  of  keys  and  g"ot  off  a  lot  of 
doggerel  about  a  command  from  Neptune  and  his  mermaids 
to  wake  me  up.  I  yawned  and  said  I  would  throw  my  boots 
at  his  stovepipe  if  he  did  not  leave,  which  he  did.  Now  see 
how  well  everything  will  turn  out  if  you  stay  here." 

It  was  so  good  to  be  taken  care  of,  to  be  warm,  to  have 
a  hearty  supper,  to  go  to  rest  in  so  luxurious  a  bed  as 
Paiseley's.  Goodwin  could  see  in  the  snug  bedroom  where 
the  oak  coals  hung  over  the  furniture  the  drapery  of  their 
Avarm,  crimson  glow.  He  heard  the  wind  mildly  purr  and 
mew  like  a  cat  anxious  to  get  in,  and  the  noise  drowsily 
diverted  him  and  coaxed  him  down,  down,  down  Slumber's 
stairs  into  the  chambers  of  forgetfulness.  After  a  while, 
the  crimson  drapery  vanished  from  the  furniture.  The  hot 
coals  sobered  to  ashes  and  went  out. 

In  the  yard,  though,  the  light  went  on.  The  white  moon 
showered  its  sparkling  pearls  on  the  white  snow.  Orion 
kept  up  the  chase  after  Lepus  all  the  while,  and  Praesepe's 
bees  hung  poised  and  motionless  on  their  white  wings.  The 
winter  night  was  so  glorious  in  the  old  college  yard.  It 
was  such  a  silent  glory  unless  interrupted  bv  the  vigorous 
singing  "  'Tis  the  way  we  have  at  Old  Bowdoin"  by  a  party 
of  Sophomores  from  a  secret  society  meeting,  or  the  lacka- 
daisical music  of  "Annie  Laurie"  from  an  old  time  Senior 
just  going  into  society  and  at  an  early  hour  strolling  home 
alone  from  a  church  sociable. 


Chapter  II. — Out  oe  College. 

The  cloud  burst  at  last.  As  a  threat  it  had  been  lying 
upon  the  horizon  of  American  life  for  long  years.  It  might 
be  only  a  threat  but  it  was  not  a  thin  mist  today,  to  be  blown 
away  tomorrow ;  it  lived  on.     It  was  not  always  of  the  same 

8 


CHUMS    AT   BOWDOIN 

size.  It  might  alarmingly  tower  one  year  and  then  would 
subside,  but  it  disappeared  never.  "The  irrepressible  con- 
flict" was  coming  nearer.  In  i860,  the  cloud  mounted  the 
sky  again,  black  with  threat.  "War  between  the  North  and 
the  South  is  coming,"  said  the  watcher  of  the  heavens. 
The  cloud  darkened  all  the  sky  at  last,  and  the  red  bolts 
of  war  tore  down  through  its  folds  and  struck  in  every 
direction.  Few  were  the  homes  North  and  South  that  in 
some  way  did  not  feel  the  jar  of  the  temnest.  In  many 
households  it  Vv^as  more  than  a  jar.  It  was  a  shattering  of 
the  family  life.  Bowdoin's  vsons  with  heroic  manliness  went 
to  stand  by  the  colors  of  Union  and  Freedom,  imperiled  in 
the  fight.  How  little  did  some  I  used  to  see  in  the  old  happy 
college  paths,  imagine  that  there  would  ever  be  opened  a 
path  to  a  Memorial  Hall  and  their  consecration  would  be 
inscribed  on  any  bronze  tablets  there! 

Among  my  classmates,  did  Edward  Thurston  Chapman 
in  the  quiet  of  his  honorable  student-seclusion  hear  the 
thud  of  that  distant  gunboat  explosion  on  the  James  River, 
fatal  as  if  sullen  Stromboli  had  suddenly  lifted  its  ashy 
furnace-door?  Could  John  Barrett  Hubbard,  so  manly  and 
undaunted,  have  possibly  caught  the  flash  of  those  roaring 
guns  at  Port  Hudson  before  which  his  consecration  and 
courage  would  be  swept  away  like  the  harvest  straw  before 
the  October  gust?  And  there  was  "Bob"  Spearing  from 
New  Orleans.  Doubtless  he  followed  his  conscience  and 
he  stood  in  the  strife  on  the  side  of  the  South.  When  he 
saw  the  sun  of  college  winter  days  crimson  the  morning 
snow,  did  he  once  think  that  his  young  blood  would  redden 
the  snovv's  of  Fredericksburg?  I  turn  the  page  here  and 
close  the  chapter  of  personal  reminiscence. 

It  was  the  summer  of  1863.  Gettysburg  was  not  far 
away,  but  nobody  saw  the  tragedy.     Least  of  all,  did  the 

9 


TAI,^S   01?  BOWDOIN 

anticipation  of  it  come  to  the  farmers  who  looked  com- 
placently at  the  corn  fields  of  that  town  that  would  soon  be 
torn  by  War's  reckless  plow  driven  in  every  direction.  Peo- 
ple only  knew  there  were  movements  of  armies  but  those 
that  listened  in  Pennsylvania  caught  not  as  yet  the  sound  of 
a  hostile  footfall. 

It  was  that  summer  of  1863  that  an  officer  in  our  army 
was  going  along  a  street  of  one  of  our  large  cities.  It 
was  a  chilling  morning  and  his  rank  was  concealed  by  his 
army  cape.  He  was  not  a  person  of  graceful  carriage,  but 
he  had  a  stout,  sturdy  build  and  a  resolute  air  that  com- 
manded respect.  This  was  apart  from  his  uniform  that 
always  compels  attention. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  said  when  he  had  passed  a  big 
brick  building  labeled  "hospital."  There  was  a  group  at 
a  corner,  looking  down  upon  an  object  on  the  sidewalk. 

"Oh,  what's  the  matter  with  the  man?"  asked  the 
officer. 

"He's  drunk,"  said  a  burly  fellow  whose  red  face  sug- 
gested that  he  ought  to  know  from  experience. 

The  officer  pushed  aside  the  crowd,  bowed  and  exclaimed, 
"Heavens,  this  is  Goody !   why,  you  poor  fellow !" 

He  lifted  the  head  tenderly  as  if  a  mother  had  found  a 
child,  and  then  folding  him  close  to  his  breast,  stroked 
gently  the  white  forehead  and  brushed  aside  the  tresses  of 
black  hair  from  a  face  of  classic  beauty. 

"He's  drunk,"  said  a  shabby  but  wiry  fellow.  "Him  and 
me,"  and  he  nodded  tow^ard  the  burly  man,  "him  and  me 
are  going  to  take  him  to  the  station.  It  is  the  thing  to  do 
for  him." 

"No,  you  don't!"  growled  the  officer.  "Drunk!  He 
abhorred  liquor  in  college.     He  never  touched  it,  and  he 

10 


CHUMS>   AT   BOWDOIN 

hasn't  touched  it  since.     I  know  all  about  him.     This  is  a 
fever-stroke,  overwork  or  something." 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  do  'bout  it  ?"  said  the  burly  man. 
"Leave  him  be!" 

"You  touch  him,  if  you  dare,"  said  the  officer. 

He  looked  around. 

"I  wish  I  had  a  squad  of  soldiers  here." 

"You  needn't  think  because  you  are  an  hosafer,  you  can 
boss  us.     Leave  him  be,  I  say." 

The  burly  man  held  a  dirty  fist  insultingly  near  the  offi- 
cer's face. 

"Is  there  somebody  here — "     He  looked  around  again. 

"I'm  not  a  soldier,  only  a  woman,  but  I  b'Heve  in  standin' 
by  the  flag.     I'll  help  ye." 

It  was  a  woman.  Her  air  was  that  of  patriotism  going 
to  the  battle-front,  as  if  she  would  say,  "V/hich  one  of  these 
shall  I  take?" 

"You  just  hold  on  to  himr  he  replied,  relinquishing  his 
burden  to  the  woman. 

"Poor  feller !"  she  murmured.  "I  know  ye.  Who'd-er 
thought  it?     There,  there,  keep  still!" 

She  tenderly  hushed  the  sick  man,  who  had  begun  to 
moan.  "I'll  be  a  mother  to  ye !  There,  there !  Hush-sh-sh  I 
Make  b'lieve  ye're  down  in  dear  old  Maine  among  friends." 

The  two  men  had  laid  hands  upon  the  officer.  He  was 
getting  ready  for  a  grapple  that  would  tax  his  powers. 
The  sight  of  Goodwin  Smith  had  awakened  out  of  sleep 
old  college  memories.  He  saw  the  ropes  and  the  rings 
suspended  in  the  primitive  gymnasium  amid  the  old  mur- 
muring pines  where  he  could  outs  wing  and  out  jump  every 
other  student.  He  thought  of  the  "hold  ins"  when  in  the 
Sophomore  arch  he  had  tossed  back  every  heavy  Freshman 

XI 


TAI,^S    O^   BOWDOIN 

that  had  dared  assault  it.  The  thrill  of  the  old  muscular 
excit(:ment  swept  through  him.     He  laid  aside  his  cape. 

"You  needn't  think  you  can  draft  us  for  the  war!"  said 
one  of  the  objectors. 

"The  war  has  no  place  for  imps  like  you !"  said  the  offi- 
cer, and  gripping  each  brute  by  the  collar  he  led  them  both 
to  the  curbstone,  and  flung  them  as  if  carrion  out  into  the 
street.  They  could  only  mutter  and  stare  at  him  in  aston- 
ishment. Then  he  went  back,  took  up  Goodwin  Smith  and 
beckoning  to  the  woman,  went  toward  the  hospital  steps. 

"You  belong  in  here?"  he  said  to  the  woman,  noticing 
some  peculiarity  of  dress. 

She  nodded  her  head. 

Together,  they  went  up  the  steps. 

"You  don't  know  me,"  she  said.  "You  came  from  Bruns- 
wick and  taught  school  at  Crawford  Centre  down  in  Maine, 
and  Goodwin  Smith  taught  after  you,  and  you  boarded  at 
Deacon  Fdlerses'.     You  forgotten  Mattie?" 

Forgotten!  Her  face  had  been  glowing  like  a  sweet 
evening  star  among  his  remembrances,  but  evening  stars 
are  not  accessible.  He  had  never  married,  but  he  had  hoped 
that  Goodwin  and  Mattie  would  be  sensible  enough  to  take 
that  step.  Out  of  the  seed  of  separation,  marriages  do  not 
grow.  The  two  had  cherished  an  interest  in  each  other  at 
one  time,  but  they  had  not  met  for  years,  and  no  one  could 
say  whether  under  memory's  gray  ashes  there  might  be  any 
spark  of  mutual  interest  alive. 

Paiseley  Gore  did  not  tell  the  woman  whether  he  remem- 
bered or  had  forgotten  Mattie,  but  as  they  entered  the  super- 
intendent's office,  he  said,  "See  here!  You  are  not  'Ann'? 
Bless  me !" 

The  calling  of  her  name  pleased  her. 

"I  am  Ann  Stevens,  the  hired  woman  at  the  Fellerses'  I" 

12 


CHUMS   AT   BOWDOIN 

But  the  superintendent  was  waiting^  for  a  communication 
from  Capt.  Paiseley  Gore,  having  rung-  a  bell  for  "bearers" 
as  soon  as  he  had  caught  sight  of  the  officer  and  the  man  in 
his  arms. 

Capt.  Gore  bowed.  "This  man,  sir,  I  want  you  to  look 
after.  He's  one  of  God's  great  princes,  an  old  coUep-e  chum. 
Take  the  best  care  of  him  and  I'll  foot  the  bill." 

"Oh,  that  will  be  all  right." 

"But  I  want  extra  care  of  him.  He  has  been  using  him- 
self up,  studying  for  the  ministry,  working  in  the  slums, 
teaching  to  pay  his  way — an  old  trick  of  a  college  student — 
and  he  has  broken  down.  I  happaied  to  be  on  a  furlough 
and  was  going  through  the  city  and  found  him.  My  fur- 
lough is  up  tomorrow  and  I  must  get  back  to  my  regiment. 
You  see  Lee's  army  has  broken  loose  and  I  must  get  to  our 
army,  but  I  will  write  you.  If  anything  should  happen  to 
me — I  have  remembered  him  in  my  will.  Don't  forget  that 
he  is  one  of  God's  great  heroes  though  a  little  fellow.  I 
knew  him  in  college,  and  a  fellow  that  knows  another  fellow 
in  college,  feels  tender — " 

"I  won't  forget,"  said  the  superintendent,  smiling.  "I've 
been  there." 

"You  see,  he  wanted  to  be  a  soldier  and  he  couldn't  pass 
the  examination,  but  really  he  is  a  great  man.  God,  when 
He  measures  big  souls,  doesn't  go  by  feet  and  inches." 

"You're  right,"  said  the  superintendent. 

A  few  minutes  later,  Ann  Stevens  was  alone  in  her  room. 
She  went  to  the  looking  glass,  a  way  she  had  when  she 
wanted  to  tell  a  secret  and  leave  it  in  a  safe  place.  "Now, 
Ann!"  she  exclaimed,  contemplating  a  rather  homely  but 
very  sensible  face,  homeliness  and  good  sense  often  being 
wedded  in  this  life.  She  called  again,  "See  here!"  The 
Ann  in  the  looking  glass  nodded  to  the  Ann  before  it,  as  if 

13 


TAI^E^S   O^   BOWDOIN 

to  say,  "Go  ahead.  You  can  trust  me."  "I  want  to  tell 
you  what  is  goin'  on.  The  superintendent  says  I  may  git 
the  nuss  for  the  patient.  Who's  a  better  one  than  the 
gal  in  Maine  I  worked  for  and  that  I  have  followed  to  this 
place  because  she  wanted  to  do  some  good  for  her  country, 
hoping  they  would  put  soldiers  here?  That's  all!  Don't 
tell !     We'll  see  how  it  comes  out." 

In  a  little  while  there  was  a  woman  standing  over  a 
patient's  bed  in  a  quiet  room,  a  woman  in  the  garb  of  a 
nurse.  She  bent  low  her  sweet  face,  out  of  which  shone  the 
hope  and  courage  of  youth. 

"Atin  says  I  know  him,"  murmured  Mattie,  and  then  her 
eyes  grew  bigger  and  bigger,  as  if  some  fuller  wave  of  light, 
of  discovery,  of  resolution,  were  sweeping  into  her  soul. 
She  said  nothing.  She  made  no  outcry,  though  here  was 
one  who  as  the  teacher  of  the  little  village  school,  had  made 
a  change  in  her  life.  He  had  left  an  emptiness  in  her  soul, 
a  hunger  that  had  never  yet  been  satisfied.  So  hungry,  and 
he  was  in  this  very  room !  He  was  the  patient  that  she,  as 
the  hospital  nurse,  must  tend !  Hark,  he  was  saying  some- 
thing! "I  hear  the  old  pines  talking."  He  opened  wide 
his  eyes.  "They're  talking.  Once  at  Brunswick,  when  I 
went  into  the  old  cemetery  back  of  the  college,  I  thought  I 
caught  the  sound,  the  roar  of  the  sea.  It  was  all  around 
me.  No,  it  was  only  the  wind  talking  up  in  the  tops  of  the 
pines.     Lovely !" 

"Yes,  yes,  it's  lovely,"  said  the  nurse.  "Now  I  will  try  to 
make  a  noise  like  that  and  you  go  to  sleep.  I  want  you  to 
be  very  quiet." 

He  smiled  and  closed  his  eyes.  That  wandering  mind, 
though,  was  not  at  rest  yet. 

He  spoke  again:  "Say,  are  you  my  sister?" 
14 


CHUMS   AT  BOWDOIN 

"I  must  humor  him,"  she  said,  and  replied,  "Yes,  yes! 
Now  I  want  you  to  go  to  sleep." 

"Are  you  my  wife?" 

"He  will  forget  this.  He's  out  of  his  head,"  she  thought, 
and  replied,  "Yes,  I  am  your  wife.  Now  ^o  to  sleep  and  I 
will  make  the  wind  in  the  pines." 

That  always  hushed  him,  the  thought  of  the  sound  that 
seemed  to  come  up  from  the  stretching  shores  of  Harpswell 
Neck  and  old  Bunganock,  and  breathing  its  music  across 
miles  of  sandy  plain  and  reaching  the  big  stretches  of  pine^ 
growth  back  of  the  colleges,  started  up  all  the  harpers  and 
players  on  organs  in  the  treetops !  What  a  soft,  luxurious 
dream  of  melody  in  gentle  June  days,  and  in  the  winter 
storm  what  vigor,  as  if  Neptune's  band  had  just  come  to 
town  and  were  playing  back  of  the  colleges ! 

One  day,  a  convalescent  was  sitting  on  a  balcony  and  the 
sweet-faced  nurse  v*^as  beside  him. 

He  asked,  "Have  you  heard  from  Paiseley  Gore  yet  ?" 

"He — I'll  tell  you  the  news  some  time.  He  went  to  his 
regiment,  you  know.     It  was  Gettysburg." 

"You  need  not  tell  me.  He  is  very  near  me.  He  came 
to  me  in  a  dream  and  a  beautiful  smile  was  upon  his  face, 
and  I  said,  Taiseley,  what  a  look  of  life  you  have,  so 
bright.'  *Yes,'  he  said,  'they  could  not  hurt  me.'  It's  a 
beautiful  thought  that  death  is  not  less  but  more  life,  and 
that  this  fuller  life  is  about  us,  God  caring  for  us  in  the 
old  tender  way,  but  caring  for  us  too  throueh  those — you 
know  what  I  mean — I  was  thinking  of  Paiseley." 

His  head  drooped  and  his  lips  quivered. 

"I  wouldn't  say  anything  more  now,  for  you're  weak. 
You  have  many  dreams,  don't  you?  You  had  one  about 
the  wind  in  the  pines,  and — " 

15 


TAL^S    OF   BOWDOIN 

"Yes,  and  one  day  I — I  must  tell  it — I  dreamed  you  said 
you  were  my  wife." 

Her's  was  the  drooping  head  now. 

"You  said  it?" 

"Yes— but— " 

"Are  you  weak  and  so  you  can't  think  of  it  ?  You  won't 
take  it  back?" 

"N-no." 


THE  BORROWING  OF 

PRESIDENT  CHENEY'S  BUST 

A  Phi  Chi  op  '&y 


THE  BORROWING  OF  PRESIDENT  CHENEY'S  BUST 

AT  the  time  I  entered  Bowdoin,  near  the  middle  of  the 
6o's,  the  leading  Greek-letter  society  there  was,  in 
some  respects,  the  Phi  Chi.  This  society,  let  me  say  for  the 
reader  who  may  not  be  familiar  with  collegfe  organizations 
and  nom.enclature,  should  not  be  confounded  with  the  Phi 
Beta  Kappa,  for  notwithstanding  the  similarity  in  their 
names,  the  two  societies  had  some  points  of  difference.  In 
general  the  Phi  Beta  Kappas  affected  scholarship,  or  book 
learning,  while  the  Phi  Chis  were  the  more  aggressive, 
and  inclined  to  achievements  that  required  and  developed 
greater  originality,  self-reliance  and  executive  ability.  It 
justified,  too,  its  right  to  a  Greek  name  rather  more,  it  seems 
to  me,  than  any  other  of  the  Greek-letter  societies  then  at 
Bowdoin ;  for  besides  having  its  headquarters  in  the  attic* 
of  Winthrop  Hall,  its  members  strenuously  endeavored  to/ 
live  up  to  some  of  the  practices  of  the  ancient  Spartans,  if 
history  tells  the  truth  about  them,  acceding  with  those 
notable  exemplars  to  the  dogma  that  there  are  things  not 
approved,  perhaps,  by  theorists,  which  it  is  nevertheless 
justifiable  to  do,  provided  one  doesn't  get  caught.  I  am  not 
defending   the    doctrine,    but    merely    recording   the    fact. 

*  A  friend  of  mine  who  is  a  profound  Greek  scholar  from  having  devoted 
his  whole  life  to  the  study  of  that  language,  informs  me  that  the  word 
attic  is  derived  from  Attica,  and  so  means  pertaining  to  Attica  or  Athens. 
He  has  written  a  lengthy  monograph  on  this  matter,  which  he  intends  to 
give  to  the  public  as  soon  as  he  can  find  a  publisher  who  will  publish  it  at 
his  own  risk.    My  friend  expects  to  get  a  Ph.  D.  for  this. 

19 


tai,e:s  of  bowdoin 

Stated  accurately,  Phi  Chi  life  was  a  year  of  experimenta- 
tion with  certain  ethical  theories;  a  year  devoted  to  testing 
and  learning  morals  by  the  laboratory  method  as  it  were. 

I  had  better  perhaps  say  here  for  the  information  of 
"yag-gers,"  ''oudens,"  and  older  graduates,  that  Phi  Chi  was 
a  Sophomore  society  founded  by  the  illustrious  class  of  '66, 
which,  to  use  the  metaphorical  language  of  a  eulogist  of  the 
day,  ''placed  its  standard  from  the  very  beginning  high  up 
on  a  lofty  eminence,"  (see  unpublished  speeches  of  Wilson 
of  ^6y)  ;  whiclv  being  interpreted,  means  that  its  founders 
started  the  society  off  at  a  rattling  pace.  But  it  can  be 
truthfully  stated,  I  think,  that  the  standard  was  not  lowered, 
or  the  pace  was  not  slackened,  whichever,  metaphor  is  pre- 
ferred, by  '6y,  into  whose  keeping  it  of  course  passed  next. 

Yet  the  pranks  performed  by  the  Phi  Chis  of  '67  were 
with  one  exception,  for  which  a  few  hot  heads  were  to 
blame,  reasonably  innocent.  One  of  them,  for  example,  was 
what  I  have  called  "the  borrowing  of  President  Cheney's 
bust." 

It  was  well  known  to  several  m.embers  of  the  class  of  '6y 
that  President  Cheney  of  the  then  nascent  college  at  Lewis- 
ton,  had  a  fine  bust  of  himself,  a  present,  it  was  said,  from 
one  of  his  classes.  That  he  should  have  a  strong  affection 
for  the  bust,  therefore,  seemed  reasonable  and  right,  but 
it  was  reported  that  he  idolized  it.  Now  if  Phi  Chi  ever 
believed  that  she  saw  the  index  finger  of  dutv  unmistakably 
pointing  out  the  way,  it  would  be  when  an  opportunity  was 
presented  to  remove  from  the  land  a  cause  for  idolatry. 
But  there  were  other  motives  that  prompted  to  the  deed  I 
have  undertaken  to  narrate,  and  one  was  the  feeling  that 
the  bust  of  an  eminent  and  intellectual  man  of  high  char- 
acter, with  its  continual  inspiration  to  noble  thoughts  and 
honorable  deeds,  would  be  a  desirable  ornament  for  the 

20 


c«  ac 
c  c  <  c 


TH^   BORROWING   O?    PREJSIDENT    CHEINEY^S    BUST 

headquarters  of  the  society.  These  quarters  were  not  with- 
out souvenirs,  but  they  had  nothing  in  the  bust  line,  and 
fed  by  the  knowledge  that  this  lack  could  be  remedied,  the 
desire  to  remedy  it  grew  steadily  till  at  leng^th  three  mem- 
bers of  the  society,  who  may  be  designated  as  Alpha  the  Sly, 
Beta,  his  lieutenant,  and  Gamma,  an  assistant,  volunteered 
to  form  a  party  to  procure  the  coveted  prize. 

The  expedition  set  out  from  Brunswick  in  a  carriage  at 
early  candle-light.  The  night  was  dark  and  cloudy,  and 
later  it  began  to  rain,  dampening  everything  but  the  ardor 
of  the  adventurers.  Lewiston  was  reached  about  the  "wee 
short  hour  ayont  the  twal,"  and  the  youthful  Bates  College 
was  found  fast  asleep.  Leaving  the  team  at  a  discreet  dis- 
tance in  care  of  Gamma,  Alpha  the  Sly  and  his  lieutenant 
manoeuvred  their  v^ay  to  the  college  buildings.  By  cutting 
out  a  pane  of  glass,  an  entrance  was  effected  and  in  a  space 
of  time  that  was  not  needlessly  prolonged,  the  bust,  care- 
fully wrapped  to  keep  it  from  injury,  was  on  its  way  to  the 
carriage.  As  soon  as  it  was  safely  bestowed  therein,  the 
expedition  faced  for  home  in  a  pouring  rain. 

When  a  mile  or  two  of  the  return  journev  had  been  cov- 
ered, Alpha  the  Sly  discovered  that  his  pocket  handkerchief 
was  missing.  The  last  he  could  remember  of  it  was  that 
he  had  it  out  when  the  pane  of  glass  was  cutting.  It  had 
his  initials  on  it,  and  must  be  recovered  quocumque  dis- 
pendio  temporis.  So  back  they  turned  and  found  the  lost 
article  under  the  window  by  which  entrance  had  been 
effected.  Notwithstanding  this  delay,  the  adventurers  were 
able  by  a  little  forcing  to  reach  Brunswick  and  land  the  bust 
safely  in  the  society's  headquarters,  in  ample  time  for  morn- 
ing chapel. 

That  evening  there  was  a  grand  convocation  of  Phi  Chi. 
The   bust   was    on   exhibition,    of   course,   and    was   duly 

21 


TALl^S    0^   BOWDOIN 

admired;  the  story  of  the  expedition  was  related  in  full 
detail,  and  enthusiastically  cheered.  There  was  also  the 
usual  amount  of  atrocious  punning,  such  as  "that  bates  all," 
*'it  is  too  bad  to  rob  Bates  College  of  all  her  Cheney-ware," 
and  "I  wonder  how  long  it  will  take  President  Cheney  to 
get  over  his  bust  this  time."  Finally  all  o^athered  around 
the  bust  and  joined  in  singing  "Do  they  miss  me  at  home, 
do  they  miss  me?"  after  which  they  retired  to  their  rooms 
to  prepare  themselves  for  their  early  morriinsf  recitation  in 
Greek. 

At  all  subsequent  meetings  of  Phi  Chi  durmg  the  year 
the  bust  was  on  exhibition  with  other  trophies,  but  in  the 
mtervals,  it  was  thought  best  to  conceal  it.  There  were 
various  devices  for  doing  this,  but  sometimes  it  was  hidden 
in  a  large  pile  of  feathers.  How  those  feathers  came  there 
I  never  knew,  but  should  surmise  that  for  a  long  time  after 
Winthrop  Hall  was  built,  all  the  chickens,  turkeys,  ducks 
and  geese  eaten  by  the  college  faculty,  must  have  been  taken 
up  there  to  be  plucked. 

As  soon  as  the  loss  of  the  bust  was  discovered,  President 
Cheney,  it  was  reported,  began  vigorous  efforts  to  recover 
it.  His  suspicions  first  very  naturally  fell  on  his  own  Soph- 
omores. He  called  them  together  and  with  tears  in  his 
eyes,  charged  them  with  the  crime,  and  threatened  to  expel 
the  whole  lot  of  them  unless  the  bust  was  returned.  They 
on  their  part,  with  tears  in  their  eyes,  protested  their  inno- 
cence, and  so,  though  he  didn't  half  believe  them,  he  for- 
gave them,  we  were  told. 

He  then  came  to  Bowdoin  and  reported  his  loss  to  Presi- 
dent Woods,  with  the  request  that  diligent  search  and 
inquiry  be  made  to  ascertain  whether  the  lost  had  not  found 
its  way  thither.  President  Woods,  deeply  sympathetic, 
though  he  was  unable  to  believe  that  his  Sophomores  would 

22 


THE)   BORROWING  OF   PR^SID^NT   CHENEY'S   BUST 

do  such  a  deed,  made  the  investigation  as  requested,  but 
without  avail.  He  was  furthermore  able  to  prove  an  alibi 
for  Bowdoin  on  the  ground  that  on  the  evening  before  and 
the  morning  after  the  bust  was  taken,  every  member  of  the 
class  of  '67  was  present  at  chapel  except  one  who  was 
proven,  however,  to  have  spent  the  entire  night  in  his  bed 
at  his  home  in  Bath. 

It  was  reported  that  President  Cheney  made  the  same 
request  at  Waterville  and  Dartmouth  and,  indeed,  at  all  the 
New  England  colleges,  and  theological  seminaries,  and 
other  institutions  where  he  thought  that  by  any  possibility 
the  bust  might  turn  up,  but  the  search  of  course  was  fruit- 
less. 

But  meanwhile  the  Sophomore  year  of  'd^j  began  to  draw 
to  its  close,  when  Phi  Chi  with  all  its  opportunities  and 
responsibilities  must  be  transferred  to  '68.  I  will  restrain 
myself  from  all  sentimentality  over  this  farewell  to  prank 
and  frolic,  and  I  only  allude  to  it,  to  say  that  as  the  day  for 
it  approached,  the  question,  what  to  do  with  the  bust, 
became  a  matter  of  considerable  deliberation.  It  was  not 
thought  best  to  leave  it  to  the  Phi  Chis  of  '68,  partly  for 
fear  they  would  not  take  as  reverent  care  of  it  as  it  deserved, 
but  chiefly  because  there  appeared  to  be  no  secure  way  of 
concealing  it.  In  the  annual  change  and  repairing  that  took 
place  in  the  summer  vacation,  it  would  be  safe  in  no  stu- 
dent's room  unless  he  staid  to  watch  it,  and  as  for  the  attic 
of  Winthrop  Hall, — well,  there  was  no  certainty  that  the 
President,  or  Prof.  Packard,  or  even  Prof.  Upham  might 
not  take  it  into  his  head  to  climb  up  there,  since  there  would 
be  no  students  around  to  catch  them  at  it.  They  were  not 
considered  by  Phi  Chi  as  trustworthy.  But  even  if  they 
refrained,  it  was  more  than  probable  that  the  college  carpen- 

23 


TAI,^S    OF    BOWDOIN 

ter  would  come  prowling  around.  He  had  found  things  up 
there  before,  and  might  try  it  again. 

A  good  many  suggestions  were  made  as  to  the  disposal  of 
the  bust,  but  none  of  them  seemed  worthy.  It  may  be  asked 
why  it  was  not  sent  back  to  President  Cheney.  Well,  I  can 
best  explain  why  by  relating  the  story  of  the  Kentucky 
colonel  who  reported  to  his  friends  one  morning  that  a  won- 
derful feat  of  legerdemain  had  been  performed  at  his  club 
the  evening  before,  by  a  guest  from  Vermont,  '*We  put  a 
glass  of  water  in  his  hand,"  explained  the  colonel,  "and 
covered  him  over  with  a  blanket;  when  at  the  end  of  two 
or  three  minutes  we  took  the  blanket  off,  the  glass  was 
empty,  but  we  couldn't  find  a  sign  of  water  on  his  clothing, 
or  on  the  blanket,  or  anywhere  about.  Now,  what  did  he  do 
with  it  ?"  At  last  some  one  suggested  that  perhaps  he  drank 
it.  "By  George !"  exclaimed  the  colonel  slapping  his  thigh, 
"none  of  us  ever  thought  of  that." 

But  at  last  a  plan  was  hit  upon  that  met  with  general 
approval ;  it  v^^as  to  send  the  bust  to  Barnum,  who  was  then 
fitting  up  his  second  museum  in  New  York  city,  his  first 
having  been  burned  a  short  time  previously.  The  bust  was 
accordingly  packed  carefully  in  a  strong  box  to  keep  it  from 
all  injury,  and  properly  marked  with  its  destination  and  "to 
be  handled  with  care."  As  it  was  seen  that  it  would  hardly 
do  to  ship  the  package  by  express  from  Brunswick,  it  was 
taken  to  Portland  by  private  conveyance  and  sent  from 
there,  the  expressage  to  be  paid  by  the  receiver.  Then  for 
a  time  all  knowledge  of  the  bust  was  lost.  Whether  indeed 
it  reached  its  destination  in  safety  could  only  be  guessed, 
because  for  obvious  reasons  no  receipt  had  been  asked  for. 

It  did,  however,  as  was  afterwards  learned,  reach  Barnum's 
safely,  but  as  none  of  his  people  knew  whom  it  represented, 

24 


the:  borrowing  o^  pr^sidejnt  chejney's  bust 

or  who  had  sent  it,  it  was  placed  on  a  shelf  among  other 
curiosities. 

It  came  about  perchance  a  few  years  later  that  a  son  of 
President  Cheney  found  himself  in  New  York  with  a  little 
leisure  on  his  hands,  and  decided  to  "take  in  Barnum's." 
As  he  strayed  from  ward  to  ward,  looking  at  the  various 
curios  and  phenomena,  behold  the  lost  bust  of  his  father, 
marked  "Sophocles,"  and  claiming-  to  have  been  made  from 
a  death  mask  of  that  worthy  by  an  eminent  artist,  and 
obtained  by  the  "Great  Showman"  at  a  cost  of  $25,000. 

Young  Cheney,  as  you  may  surmise,  lost  no  time  in 
reporting  the  discovery  to  his  father,  and  also  in  bringing 
the  matter  to  the  attention  of  Barnum.  As  the  bust  was 
neither  a  freak  nor  a  fraud,  Barnum  was  willing  to  part 
with  it,  and  thus  at  length  the  lost  found  its  way  back  into 
the  possession  of  its  owner;  and  I  may  add  in  conclusion, 
that  none  were  more  pleased  over  the  final  outcome  than  the 
ex-members  of  Phi  Chi  of  the  class  of  '67. 


A  TALE  OF  TWO  FRESHMEN 

Henry  Smith  Chapman,  '91 


H  TALE  or  TWO  PRCSHHCN 


WHEN  Dexter  Morgan  first  appeared  on  the  campus, 
there  was  much  felicitation  in  athletic  circles.  Johnny 
Moore,  the  captain  of  the  foot-ball  team  had  seen  him  at  the 
station,  and  remarked  to  a  companion,  with  an  enthusiasm 
rarely  displayed  by  a  public  character  weighed  down  by 
such  momentous  responsibilities,  that  there  was  one  Fresh- 
man a*  least  who  seemed  to  have  been  put  together  with 
special  reference  to  the  game  of  foot-ball.  Kip  White, 
moreover,  who  held  a  similar  position  of  authority  in  the 
track-team,  observing  the  stranger  from  the  window  of  his 
room,  where  he  lounged  in  the  lazy  autumn  sunshine,  was 
moved  to  declare  him  the  most  hopeful  raw  material  he  had 
seen  since  he  first  wore  running-breeches. 

"He  looks  as  if  he  could  do  anything  from  the  hundred 
yards  to  the  hammer-throw,  and  do  'em  all  equally  well," 
was  the  flattering  sum  of  his  critical  judgment. 

The  young  Freshman  certainly  offered  very  unusual 
physical  recommendations.  His  frame  was  at  once  sturdy 
and  supple,  his  breadth  of  chest  and  length  of  limb  were 
equally  admirable,  while  a  certain  grace  and  pliability  of 
movement  showed  the  perfect  balance  of  his  strength.  A 
well-featured  fellow  he  was,  too,  with  a  straightforward  eye, 
and  a  mouth  which  clearly  bespoke  firmness  and  will  power. 
When  it  was  learned  that  beside  all  this,  he  was  the  son  of 
Col.  Morgan  whom  everyone  knew  as  one  of  the  ablest  law- 

29 


tai,e:s  o^  bowdoin 

yers  in  New  York,  and  therefore  in  the  country ;  a  faithful 
alumnus,  moreover,  and  a  trustee  of  the  college,  it  needed 
no  occult  power  of  divination  to  fortell  his  early  eminence 
in  his  class. 

But  somehow  things  failed  to  turn  out  according  to 
expectation,  and  in  proportion  as  Dexter's  rise  in  the  esti- 
mation of  his  college-mates  had  been  swift,  so  was  his  fall 
headlong.  The  first  shock  was  administered  to  Johnny 
Moore  who  hurried  around  to  Morgan's  room  in  South 
Maine  as  soon  as  he  could  find  a  few  moments  to  spare  from 
his  arduous  duties  with  the  awkward  squad  on  Whittier 
Field.  He  was  cordial  almost  to  the  point  of  condescension, 
but  Morga^  who  might  better  have  appreciated  the  captain's 
friendly  intentions,  if  he  had  ever  seen  the  haughty  manner 
in  which  he  ordered  other  Freshmen  into  canvas  jackets 
and  moleskins,  froze  him  with  distant  politeness. 

He  was  very  glad  to  be  honored  by  a  call  from  Mr. 
Moore;  the  courtesy  was  appreciated,  but  he  was  sorry  it 
wouldn't  be  possible  for  him  to  oblige  Mr.  Moore  by  join- 
ing the  foot-ball  squad.     He  didn't  care  to  play. 

Johnny  was  not  used  to  this  sort  of  talk  from  a  Freshman, 
and  still  less  prepared  for  the  air  of  cool  self-possession  with 
which  it  was  accompanied.  He  stared  incredulously  at 
Dexter,  and  asked  him  if  he  didn't  know  the  eame,  "because 
if  you  don't,"  he  added,  patronizing  once  more,  "you  ought 
to,  with  such  a  build  as  yours." 

Mr.  Morgan,  it  appeared,  had  had  some  experience  with 
the  game  in  preparatory  school,  but  didn't  care  to  pursue  it 
further.  No,  his  parents  had  no  objection  that  he  knew  of, 
to  the  game,  but  he  thought  he  would  better  keep  out  of  it, 
and  he  imperturbably  bowed  the  astonished  captain  out  at 
the  door.  Johnny  did  not  surrender  so  easily,  however,  for 
he  could  not  think  with  patience  of  so  much  rare  strength 

30 


A  taivE;  0^  TWO  frkshme:n 

and  agility  going,  as  it  were,  to  waste,  but  though  he  bom- 
barded the  inexplicable  boy  with  arguments  until  he  fairly 
lost  his  own  temper,  he  failed  to  move  the  quiet  and  polite 
determination  with  which  Dexter  held  him  off. 

Of  course  the  big  Freshman  fell  irretrievably  in  the  opin- 
ion of  most,  when  this  state  of  affairs  became  known.  He 
followed  it  up  by  declining  with  the  same  air  of  indifference, 
the  invitation  to  organize  his  own  class  team,  and  even 
remained  away  from  the  class-meetings  whereat  the  new- 
comers became  better  acquainted  with  one  another,  and  dis- 
cussed the  plan  of  campaign  to  be  directed  against  the 
arrogant  Sophomores. 

As  a  crowning  piece  of  indiscretion,  he  snubbed  the 
upper-classmen  who  came  to  dangle  fraternity  badges  before 
him.  His  own  father  had  belonged  to  a  society  long  since 
defunct  so  far  as  Bowdoin  was  concerned,  and  he  was  there- 
fore "fair  game."  Half  a  dozen  invitations  to  fraternity 
chapter-houses  and  dining-clubs  were  extended  to  him; 
almost  any  society  would  have  pledged  him  willingly,  but  he 
was  shy.  Every  invitation  was  declined  with  cool  courtesy, 
and  he  made  it  no  secret  that  he  did  not  propose  to  become 
a  fraternity  man. 

Thus  from  being  in  a  fair  wav  to  become  a  college  hero, 
Dexter  Morgan  became  first  a  college  mystery  and  then  an 
object  of  general  suspicion  and  reproach.  He  never  failed 
to  be  polite,  and  could  not  fairly  be  charged  with  freshness 
or  sullenness.  He  merely  held  everyone  at  arm's  length  and 
neither  had  nor  wanted  intimates.  He  roomed  alone  and 
was  never  known  to  call  on  any  of  his  classmates.  In  the 
class-room  he  did  well  enough  and  when  he  was  not  study- 
ing or  reading  he  was  most  likely  to  be  ranging  alone  over 
the  country  about  Brunswick,  gaining  by  long  hard  walks 
the  exercise  his  vigorous  body  required.     It  was  not  unusual 

31 


TALI^S    O^   BOWDOIN 

for  him  to  cover  fifteen  miles  in  an  afternoon,  and  before 
many  weeks  had  passed  there  was  hardly  a  picturesque 
fringe  of  the  rugged  shore  of  the  bay,  or  a  sparkling  reach 
of  the  broad  river  which  he  did  not  know  as  well  as  if  he 
had  lived  in  the  old  town  all  his  life. 

His  class-mate  Charley  Marryat  was  the  only  one  who 
seemed  able  to  establish  any  relations  whatever  with  him. 
Charley  did  not  come  to  college  that  fall  until  late  in  Octo- 
ber,— there  was  some  trouble  or  other  with  his  eyes, — and 
by  the  time  he  arrived  every  room  in  the  dormitories  was 
taken.  But  he  brought  with  him  a  letter  from  his  father, 
an  obscure  minister  in  some  little  town  up  the  State,  but 
who  had  been  a  class-mate  and  friend  of  the  great  Col. 
Morgan.  His  letter  was  addressed  to  Dexter  Morgan,  who 
when  he  had  read  it  hastened  to  ask  its  anxious  bearer  to 
share  his  rooms  with  him,  an  offer  which  was  gratefully 
accepted. 

Perhaps  Charley's  appearance  had  as  much  to  do  with  the 
matter  as  the  contents  of  the  letter,  for  Dexter  was  a  soft- 
hearted fellow  in  spite  of  his  dignity,  and  no  one  could  look 
at  Charley  without  feeling  a  little  sorry  for  him.  He  was 
a  frail,  almost  puny  little  fellow,  with  pale  straw-colored 
hair  and  large  china-blue  eyes.  With  this  ensemble  went 
an  appropriately  timid,  appealing  manner,  which  was  not 
exactly  sapless  either.  It  simply  called  your  attention  to 
his  extreme  youth  and  delicate  health,  and  without  com- 
plaining about  them  at  all,  nevertheless  urged  you  to  do 
whatever  you  could  to  make  things  easier  for  him. 

So  Charley  moved  an  old  second-hand  desk,  a  couple  of 
chairs  and  some  other  necessaries  into  Morgan's  room, 
which  was  already  furnished  about  to  its  limit  with  the 
nicest  things  that  good  taste  could  select  and  abundant 
money  could  buy.     He  also  erected  a  shrine  to  his  big  room- 

32 


A    TALE    OP   TWO    FRESHMEN 

mate  in  the  recesses  of  his  heart  and  worshipped  him  there 
as  few  men  have  the  fortune  to  be  worshipped  by  one  of 
their  kind.  It  was  not  strang-e  that  this  should  be  so,  for 
Dexter  had  every  advantage  which  the  other  lacked,  and 
combined  with  them  a  kindliness  and  gentleness  of  manner 
toward  his  new  friend  which  would  alone  have  won 
Charley's  susceptible  heart.  Their's  was  the  attraction  of 
opposite  natures,  v/hich,  when  it  really  manifests  itself,  is 
more  powerfully  magnetic  than  any  other. 

It  was  a  welcome  change  for  Dexter,  to  have  someone 
with  whom  he  must  live  in  relations  of  the  closest  intimacy. 
He  was  neither  reserved  nor  sulky  by  nature,  and  though 
by  his  deliberate  choice  he  had  cut  himself  off  from  the 
companionship  of  his  college-mates,  he  had  already  begun 
to  find  the  life  of  a  solitary  decidedly  irksome.  But  though 
Charley,  in  his  affection  and  admiration  for  his  new  friend, 
set  himself  at  once  both  to  find  out  the  cause  of  his 
unaccountable  behavior  and  to  induce  him  to  alter  it,  he 
made  little  headway.  Dexter  was  willing  to  be  as  cheerful 
and  companionable  as  possible  with  him,  but  he  was  not  to 
be  allured  from  his  lofty  attitude  toward  everyone  else.  It 
was  not  merely  a  disappointment,  but  a  grief  to  Charley 
that  this  was  so.  He  could  not  bear  that  his  room-mate 
should  be  anything  else  than  the  leader  he  was  bom  to  be, 
the  conspicuous  figure  first  of  his  class,  and  then  of  the 
whole  college.  It  worried  him  to  hear  Dexter  called  stiff, 
and  proud,  and  conceited  and  priggish,  when  he  knew  what 
a  charming  fellow  he  could  be  when  he  chose,  and  it  hurt 
him  that  Dexter  would  not  give  him  his  confidence  and 
explain  conduct  so  incomprehensible.  But  through  it  all 
he  was  loyal  and  against  the  all  but  unanimous  verdict  of 
practical  ostracism  which  the  college  democracy  passed 
B  33 


TALES    OF   BOWDOIN 

against  his  friend,  his  shrill  voice  was  raised  in  unending 
protest. 

The  snow  came  late  that  winter,  and  all  through  Decem- 
ber Dexter  Morgan  found  it  possible  to  take  the  long,  hard 
walks  from  which  he  drew  so  much  solace.  Now  and  then 
the  faithful  Charley,  if  he  felt  more  energetic  than  common, 
accompanied  him,  though  both  pace  and  distance  had  to  be 
modified  to  suit  his  strength.  One  bright  Saturday,  near 
the  close  of  the  term,  the  two  boys  made  a  joint  expedition 
to  the  old  shipyard  on  the  road  to  Harpswell.  The  yard, 
once  as  busy  as  any  along  the  New  England  coast,  in  the 
days  of  wood  and  canvas,  when  the  Yankee  clipper-ships 
were  mistresses  of  the  sea,  was  deserted  now,  though  the 
last  vessel  had  left  the  stocks  only  a  few  years  before.  The 
road  which  led  in  from  the  four-barred  gate,  over  the  hill 
and  under  the  pine  trees  to  the  water  side,  was  overgrown 
with  grass,  the  shops  and  sheds  were  rotting  in  idleness, 
the  ground  where  once  great  ships  had  proudly  risen  was 
littered  with  decaying  timbers,  and  the  odds  and  ends  of 
iron  and  rope  which  the  workmen  had  not  thought  it  worth 
while  to  take  away.  On  the  slope  of  the  hill  overlooking 
these  ruins  of  a  once  great  industry,  and  giving  prospect  of 
the  waters  of  the  Cove,  and  the  rocky  shores  and  evergreen 
heights  of  Prince's  Point  opposite  them,  the  boys  sat  down 
to  drink  in  the  picturesque  beauty  of  the  scene.  The  tide — 
fortunately — was  full,  and  the  steel-blue  water  sparkled 
frostily  in  the  bright  sunlight,  with  the  cold  brilliance  of  a 
northern  sea  in  winter. 

"Br-r-r!  It  makes  my  teeth  chatter  to  look  at  it,"  said 
Dexter,  burlesquing  a  shiver  as  he  spoke.  "Doesn't  it  look 
icy.  Kid?" 

Charley  agreed  absently.  He  was  nerving  himself  to 
speak  more  openly  to  his  friend  than  he  had  yet  dared,  and 

34 


A  tale:  of  two  i^reshmen 

hardly  knew  to  what  he  was  assenting.  At  last  he  found 
his  courage  and  spoke: 

"Dexter,  will  yovi  mind  it,  if  I  ask  you  to  tell  me  why 
you  wouldn't  try  for  the  team  this  fall  ?  You  know  as  well 
as  I  do  that  you  could  have  made  it,  and  what's  more  you 
knew  they  needed  you.  They  wouldn't  have  lost  the 
Amherst  game  and  come  so  confoundedly  near  dropping  to 
Bates,  with  you  at  tackle  in  place  of  that  mark,  Weeks." 

Dexter  did  not  answer  at  once,  and  Charley  watched  him 
anxiously. 

"There  isn't  any  reason  which  would  have  kept  you  out 
of  the  game  if  you  had  been  in  my  place,  is  there,  Kid?'' 
he  said  at  length. 

"Of  course  there  isn't.  I  wouldn't  see  Bowdoin  put  out 
anything  but  the  best  in  any  line,  if  it  lay  with  me  to  help 
it,"  replied  Marryat,  flushing  indignantly. 

"Ah!  that's  the  difference,  you  see,"  said  Morgan.  "I 
haven't  gotten  to  feel  that  way  yet.  I  doubt  if  I  ever  do. 
We  don't  look  at  things  the  same  way,  Kid." 

Charley  regarded  him  hopelessly.  "You  don't  need  to 
tell  me  that,"  he  said.  "What  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  tell 
me  your  point  of  view.  You  understand  mine  well  enough, 
but  I  can't  make  yours  out.  The  fellows  say  you  are — well, 
I  won't  say  what — but  I  know  better.  There's  something 
back  of  it  all,  and  1  wish  you'd  tell  me  what  it  is.  Why 
wouldn't  you  join  any  of  the  fraternities  either?  Oh,  you 
see  I'm  going  to  have  it  out  with  you  now  I've  begun. 
You'll  feel  better  for  telling  me,  anyway,  old  man.  It's 
worth  while  giving  your  confidence  to  somebody." 

There  was  another  pause  when  Charley  stopped  speaking, 
as  though  the  other  were  considering  whether  it  was  best, 
after  all,  to  be  equally  frank.  But  in  reality  Dexter  was 
glad  of  the  chance  to  speak  what  was  in  his  mind.     His 

35 


TALES    OP   BOWDOIN 

hesitation  was  more  the  effect  of  his  fear  that  if  he  spoke 
he  would  inevitably  fall  in  the  esrtiimation  of  the  only  friend 
he  had  in  college — he  who  had  always  had  so  many  friends 
and  admirers. 

"You  won't  think  any  the  more  of  me  if  I  tell  you,"  he 
said  finally ;  "but  I'll  do  it  all  the  same.  The  fact  is  I  never 
wanted  to  come  here  anyway.  All  my  friends  in  New  York 
and  most  of  the  fellows  I  knew  at  school  have  ^one  to  Yale, 
and  I  wanted  to  go  with  them.  Father  insisted  on  my 
coming  to  Bowdoin.  I  came,  of  course,  but  I've  never  pre- 
tended to  be  glad  I  came.  What's  the  use?  If  I  could 
make  the  Yale  team  now,  it  would  be  worth  while,  but  I 
don't  care  the  snap  of  my  finger  for  foot-ball  here.  What 
does  it  amount  to  anyway  ?  There's  no  name  to  be  made  in 
games  with  a  lot  of  small  college  teams — no  one  hears  of 
you  up  here.  And  I've  no  call  to  work  myself  half  to  death 
for  a  college  I  didn't  want  to  go  to,  and  don't  want  to  stay 
in.  I  can  see  you're  looking  sour.  Kid,  but  I'm  telling  you 
my  point  of  view.     You  don't  like  it,  but  you  asked  for  it." 

"I'm  not  looking  sour.  Dexter,  and  I'm  ever  so  much 
obliged  to  you  for  speaking.  It's  hard  for  me  to  under- 
stand, you  know,  for  I've  been  brought  up  all  my  life  to 
look  forward  to  coming  to  Bowdoin,  till  I've  come  to  think 
it  about  the  best  luck  a  man  can  have,  to  be  here.  I  didn't 
realize  how  you  felt.     I  never  heard  you  speak  of  Yale." 

"No,  you  haven't.  Why  should  I?  It  wouldn't  help 
things  to  growl  over  them  in  public." 

"I'm  sorry,  old  man."  Charley's  voice  was  very  sympa- 
thetic; he  had  a  genius  for  sympathy.  "I  wish  you  could 
get  around  to  my  point  of  view — or  else  I  wish  we  could 
change  ours  about.  You  could  do  so  much  for  the  college 
if  you  had  mine,  and  I  couldn't  do  any  less  for  it  if  I  had 
yours." 

36 


A    TALK    OF   TWO    FRESHMEN 

Dexter's  answer  was  gruff  in  tone,  but  kindly  in  under- 
tone. "Shut  up,  Kid!"  he  said.  "Don't  talk  nonsense. 
You  will  do  more  for  anything  you're  fond  of  than  I  could 
with  all  my  muscle.  You've  got  things  that  count  for  more 
than  all  the  athletic  records  a  man  can  make.  You've  got 
brains  for  one  thing,  and  common  sense,  and  a  bit  of  honest 
sentiment,  and,  by  George,  .1  think  sometimes  I  haven't  a 
particle  of  any  of  them.  But  I'm  made  the  way  I'm  made,' 
as  the  old  darkey  said,  and  'it  look  like  it'll  take  a  mighty 
outpourin'  of  grace  to  save  me.'  " 

Charley  smiled  merrily.  "No  one  can  say  you're  not 
modest  as  to  your  own  merits,"  he  said.  "You'll  come 
around  in  time,  old  man.  You've  been  disappointed,  but 
you'll  find  the  old  college  a  pretty  good  place  after  all. 
Your  father  loves  it,  and  so  does  mine,  and  what  is  good 
enough  for  them  can't  be  much  beneath  their  sons." 

"I'm  an  obstinate  brute  though,  Charley,"  returned  Dex- 
ter, "and  when  I'm  started  in  one  direction,  it's  awfully  hard 
to  make  me  change  my  course.  So  far  I've  done  the  best  I 
could  to  spoil  my  course  here,  and  I  guess  I've  made  a 
pretty  thorough  job  of  it.  The  fellows  have  me  sized  up 
pretty  well — and  mind  you,  I  don't  say  I'm  sorry  either. 
I  can  rub  along  all  right  if  it's  my  luck  to  stay,  and  if  I  can 
induce  the  Colonel  to  relent  next  year,  why,  I  shan't  regret 
having  stuck  it  out  the  way  I  began.  There's  one  thing  I 
won't  do,  and  that  is — pretend.  I  didn't  want  to  come  here, 
and  I  don't  want  to  stay." 

"I  shan't  give  you  up,  though,"  returned  Charley,  rising 
to  his  feet.  "You're  just  the  sort  of  fellow  who  will  be  at 
home  at  Bowdoin,  when  you're  ready  to  look  at  things 
more  reasonably,  and  all  you've  got  to  do  is  to  be  your  real 
self  to  bring  the  whole  push  around  to  you,  whenever  you'd 
rather  have  them   friends  than   enemies.     You're  on   the 

37 


TALES    OF   BOWDOIN 

wrong  track  now,  and  down  at  the  bottom  of  your  heart 
vou  know  it.  You're  getting  to  Hke  the  old  college,  in 
spite  of  yourself,  and  you  do  not  mean  half  you  say.  By 
spring  you  won't  mean  any  of  it  and  then  you'll  stop  saying 
it.  There's  some  missionary  work  to  be  done  with  you, 
my  boy,  and  I'm  appointed  to  do  it.  Now  let's  go  home. 
It's  cold  sitting  here." 


II 

The  winter  passed  at  last,  as  all  Maine  winters  do  if  one 
only  has  patience  with  them,  and  Charley  was  still  at  his 
missionary  work.  Dexter  yielded  slowly,  indeed  at  times 
it  seemed  that  he  had  not  yielded  at  all.  and  fits  of  dis- 
couragement often  depressed  the  spirits  of  his  ardent  little 
friend.  He  did  come  to  know  some  of  his  class-mates 
better,  however.  They  came  to  see  Charley,  and  Dexter, 
who  was  only  a  big  boy,  in  spite  of  his  stubbornness,  could 
not  help  laughing  and  joking  with  them,  and  so  getting  to 
like  them.  But  though  he  made  in  this  way  a  few  personal 
friends,  who  one  by  one  came  to  admire  him  almost  as 
much  as  Charley  did,  he  stood  as  much  aloof  from  the  col- 
lege at  large  as  ever,  and  displayed  no  sort  of  interest  in  any 
of  the  student  activities  of  the  institution. 

His  long  walks  had  at  length  to  be  given  up,  for  the  snow 
made  them  more  laborious  than  enjoyable,  and  Dexter's 
abundant  energy  next  turned  itself  upon  gymnasium  work. 
He  spent  no  less  than  two  hours  a  day  in  the  building 
performing  with  enthusiasm  what  most  of  the  college 
endured  as  drudgery,  and  finishing  his  daily  employment  of 
every  appliance  on  the  floor  with  a  run  of  several  miles 
around  the  gallery-track.  At  which  sight  the  track-men 
groaned,  for  it  was  evident  that  this  contrary,  inexplicable 

38 


A    TALE   01'   TWO    FRESHMEN 

Freshman  was  by  long  odds  the  best  distance  man  in  col- 
lege— and  he  would  not  consent  to  train. 

When  the  first  chill  days  of  Spring  came  round,  the  roads 
being  still  so  deep  in  slush  and  mud  that  tramping  was  out 
of  the  question,  the  cinder-track  on  Whittier  field  offered 
good  footing  and  fresher  air  than  was  to  be  found  under 
the  gymnasium  roof.  So  it  was  there  he  took  his  exercise, 
a  stiff  three-mile  run  at  the  close  of  every  afternoon — rain 
or  shine.  And  at  sight  of  his  swinging,  tireless  pace  the 
track-men  gnashed  their  teeth  afresh  and  declared  that  the 
sulky  Freshman  ought  to  be  hazed  till  he  knew  his  place 
and  saw  his  duty.  Perhaps  he  should  have  been,  but  no 
one  cared  to  undertake  the  task.  Charley  Marryat's 
methods  were  more  likely  to  prove  effective  with  Dexter 
Morgan's  kind  of  stubbornness. 

Charley  was  really  producing  his  effect ;  for  Dexter  was 
already  heartily  ashamed  of  his  peevishness.  He  found  the 
fellows  he  knew  companionable  and  manly,  and  those  who 
cut  him  on  the  street  (of  whom  there  were  a  few)  had,  as 
he  admitted  to  himself,  what  he  should  consider  ample  justi- 
fication. He  was  sometimes  surprised  that  he  had  not  been 
sent  to  Coventry  long  ago  by  the  united  action  of  the  fel- 
lows. Little  by  little,  too,  he  began  to  recognize  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  college,  and  to  like  it,  and  to  understand  why 
his  father  loved  it,  and  why  his  classmates  loved  it  too. 
The  spirit  of  the  place,  as  well  as  the  admonitions  of 
Charley  Marryat,  was  beginning  to  work  within  him,  and 
though  he  knew  himself  to  be  outside  the  hearty  and  whole- 
some life  of  the  college,  he  felt  that  he  was  being  drawn 
into  it  even  against  his  will,  as  a  strong  swimmer  is  drawn 
into  the  vortex  of  a  whirlpool.  Gradually,  through  Charley, 
his  circle  of  acquaintances  was  widening.  Gradually  he 
was  getting  to  know  the  fellows  he  met,  better,  and  as  the 

39 


TALES    OF   BOWDOIN 

barrier  of  suspicion  and  reserve  between  them  was  broken 
down,  he  found  in  them  fresh  sources  of  contap^ion  from 
which  the  infectious  Bowdoin  spirit  might  be  caught.  All 
this  he  would  hardly  admit  even  to  himself,  but  when  he 
found  himself  unconsciously  humming  "Phi  Chi"  as  he 
rubbed  down  in  the  gymnasium  after  his  daily  run,  he  could 
not  deny  that  he  was  failing  to  maintain  his  pose  of  indiffer- 
ence with  entire  success.  Of  course  he  still  wanted  to  go  to 
Yale — there  was  no  doubt  about  that,  but  he  was  beginning 
to  understand  how  he  might  be  very  happy,  at  Bowdoin — if 
he  had  started  in  right,  and  how  he  might  in  time  grow 
really  fond  of  the  college. 

He  was  in  one  of  these  "melting"  moods,  when  Kip 
White,  already  introduced  to  the  reader,  appeared  at  his 
room  to  make  a  last  appeal  in  behalf  of  the  track  team. 
Kip  was  a  tall,  rangy  youth,  with  hair  which  blazed  aggres- 
sively, and  eyes  which  snapped  when  they  did  not  twinkle. 

"The  Worcester  meet  is  only  three  weeks  off,  Morgan," 
he  began  pathetically,  "and  Vx^e've  got  a  team  which  will  give 
a  good  account  of  itself  from  top  to  bottom.  Jack  Stillings 
is  good  for  a  place  in  the  dashes — perhaps  for  a  win. 
Stump  Grattan  and  myself  will  attend  to  the  hurdles  and 
the  long  jump.  There's  Forster  and  Bemis  in  the  weights, 
Berny  Sweeney  in  the  pole  vault,  and  Phip  Douglass  and 
Skinner  Jones  in  the  middle  distance.  But  we  haven't  a 
single  good  long  distance  man.  I  don't  know  what  else  you 
can  do,  but  I  know  you  can  run  the  mile  and  the  two-mile 
in  pretty  near  record  time.  I  held  a  watch  on  you  the  other 
day,  from  behind  the  stand — you  won't  mind,  will  you? — 
and  with  you  to  hold  up  our  end  there,  we'll  have  the  best- 
rounded  team  the  college  has  ever  had.  If  you  won't  we'll 
have  to  depend  on  Dietrich,  and  he  can't  get  even  a  third, 

40 


A    TALE    01^    TWO    FRESHMEN 

unless  everybody  else  sprains  an  ankle  goin^  the  first  lap. 
What  do  you  say  ?" 

Dexter  was  very  near  to  saying  **Yes"  at  once.  It  seemed; 
a  lucky  chance  that  he  should  have  so  apt  an  opportunity  ta 
purge  himself  of  sullenness  and  indifference  without  having 
to  make  the  first  advances  himself.  But  a  stubborn  spirit 
still  possessed  him.     He  would  not  give  in  too  easily. 

''You  give  my  running  more  credit  than  it  deserves,"  he 
said.     ''I  only  run  for  exercise." 

''Whatever  you  run  for,  you  can  beat  any  man  in  college 
at  a  distance,"  asserted  Kip.  "I  think  you're  sure  of  points 
at  Worcester,  too.  At  any  rate  you  ought  to  try,  for  the 
sake  of  the  college." 

Dexter  smiled  a  little  bitterly,  but  he  only  said :  "I  haven't 
been  training  properly,  you  know.  I  was  smoking  when 
you  knocked  on  the  door,  and  I  haven't  followed  training 
rules  of  diet  by  a  good  deal." 

"There's  time  enough  for  that  yet,"  argued  Kip.  "Your 
condition  is  near  perfect  anyhow,  and  a  couple  of  weeks' 
good  training  will  put  you  right  on  edge.  And  even  with- 
out strict  training  you  can  run.     I've  seen  you." 

While  the  two  were  talking  Charley  Marryat  had  been 
listening  nervously,  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  room-mate.  Now 
he  broke  in  eagerly : 

'"Say  you'll  do  it,  Dex !  It's  a  chance  I'd  give  a  farm 
for !     Do  it  like  a  good  fellow,  won't  you  ?" 

Dexter  did  not  answer  at  once,  and  when  he  did  he  spoke 
hesitatingly.  "I  can't  answer  tonight.  White,"  he  said.  I 
really  don't  want  to,  you  know.  It  means  work  and  bother 
and  the  end  doesn't  count  for  much  with  me,  I'll  admit. 
But  perhaps  I  shall  com.e  around  to  it." 

White's,  eyes  snapped  Avamingly,  for  the  Freshman's 
coolness  annoyed  him. 

41 


TALES    OF   BOWDOIN 

"The  boys  all  said  you  wouldn't  do  it,"  he  said,  getting 
up.  "But  I  told  them  3^ou  would  if  it  was  put  before  you 
right.  You  think  it  over.  It  means  more  to  you,  as  I  look 
at  it,  than  it  does  to  the  team." 

It  wasn't  a  fortunate  thing  to  say,  for  it  pricked  Dexter's 
obstinacy  awake  again.  He  said  nothing  but,  "All  right, 
I'll  think  it  over ;"  but  to  himself  he  grumbled,  "If  he  thinks 
he  can  work  me  that  way,  he's  mistaken. '  If  I  do  run,  it 
won't  be  because  I  want  him  and  his  crowd  to  jolly  me 
along.     I  can  get  along  all  right  without  them,  I  guess." 

As  White  left  the  room  Charley  got  up  and  followed  him 
into  the  hall. 

"Kip,"  he  said,  "when  the  entries  go  in — you  enter  Mor- 
gan for  the  mi)e  and  the  two-mile.  Never  mind  what  he 
says  beforehand.  It  won't  do  any  harm,  and  I  think  I  can 
get  him  to  run,  if  you'll  let  me  manage  it." 

"All  right.  I'll  enter  him,"  replied  the  track-captain. 
**But  he  might  as  well  understand  that  if  he  stays  out  of  this, 
there'll  be  no  notice  taken  of  him  in  the  future.  He  can  do 
the  college  a  good  turn  now,  and  if  he  won't,  why,  we  don't 
have  to  get  down  on  our  knees  to  any  self-important,  con- 
ceited prig  of  a  Freshman,  whether  he's  the  son  of  Colonel 
Morgan  of  New  York  or  of  the  President  of  the  United 
States !" 

Kip  spoke  with  some  asperity,  and  he  did  not  realize 
that  his  voice,  somewhat  shrill  by  nature,  rose  in  pitch 
as  he  spoke.  The  door  was  closed,  to  be  sure,  but  his 
final  words  pierced  it.  Not  wholly  intellig:ible  when  they 
reached  Dexter's  ears,  they  still  conveyed  their  sense  and 
froze  his  uncertain  purpose  into  determination.  He  would 
see  Kip  White  elsewhere  before  he'd  run  for  his  team. 

He  had  cooled  of?  by  morning,  but  the  decision  he  had 
reached   had   become   inflexible   in   the   process.     Charley 

42 


A  tale:  of  two  freshmen 

found  it  harder  than  ever  to  move  him,  thougfh  he  could  not 
discover  why  it  was  so. 

'*Dex,  old  man,"  he  said  finally,  as  near  losing:  his  patience 
as  it  was  possible  for  him  to  come,  "I  don't  like  to  put  it  on 
this  ground,  but  I  wish  you'd  do  it  for  me.  You  know  how 
much  I  want  to  do  something  for  the  old  collegfe,  now,  while 
I'm  here.  Perhaps  because  it's  the  thing  I  can  do  least 
of  all  I  feel  especially  so  about  athletics.  Of  course 
there's  nothing  I  can  possibly  do  myself,  but  if  I  could  per- 
suade you  to  run  at  Worcester,  it  would  lead  to  so  much 
else,  and  I  should  feel  that  I  had  done  a  real  service,  both  to 
you  and  to  the  college.     Why  won't  you,  old  rnan  ?" 

"Well,  well,  Kid,  perhaps  I  will,"  responded  Dexter 
snappishly.  "You'll  nag  me  to  it,  if  there's  no  otTier  way, 
I  suppose."  At  which  unkind  remark,  poor  Charley,  who 
had  the  sensitive  man's  fear  of  making  himself  a  bore, 
flushed  and  was  silent. 

It  was  only  a  few  days  after  this  that  Charley  came  in 
from  recitation  to  find  his  room-mate  hastilv  throwing  his 
things  into  an  open  suit-case.  He  looked  pale  and  anxious, 
and  his  smile  as  he  looked  up  was  a  haggard  affair. 

"Your  good  counsel  is  all  for  naught.  Kid,"  he  said, 
nodding  toward  an  opened  telegram  lying  on  the  center 
table.  "The  Worcester  meet  will  have  to  go  on  without  me 
this  spring.  The  Colonel's  sick — something  sudden  and 
serious,  they  tell  me  and  perhaps  I  shan't  ever  come  back 
again." 

He  spoke  with  laborious  self-command,  but  there  were 
tears  in  his  eyes.  He  loved  his  father  dearlv  and  just  now 
he  was  thinking  how  little  he  had  done  to  make  the  last  few 
months  happy  for  him.  Charley,  with  a  sympathy  subtle 
beyond  his  years,  understood  him,  and  silently  pressed  his 
hand.     Almost  without  words,  they  parted  at  the  station; 

43 


tale:s  of  bowdoin 

but  they  had  never  been  so  close  to  one  another  as  they  were 
then. 

The  college  heard  of  Dexter's  departure  without  emotion. 
The  track-men  lamented  the  final  disappointment  of  the 
hopes  they  had  entertained  of  him,  but  otherwise  no  one 
seemed  much  concerned  about  him.  There  were  a  few  per- 
functory words  of  regret  and  that  was  all.  Never  before 
had  Charley  realized  how  completely  his  friend's  conduct 
had  alienated  the  ready  sympathy  of  all  except  himself. 


Ill 

The  day  of  the  Worcester  meet  that  year  was  as  nearly 
perfect  as  a  day  in  May  can  be — which  means  a  good  deal. 
The  pretty  oval  was  flooded  in  sunshine,  and  the  fresh,  cool 
green  of  grass  and  trees  formed  a  rich  setting  for  a  'scene  of 
life  and  color  which  glovv^ed  and  shifted  in  fascinating  com- 
plexity. The  stand  was  full  to  overflowing  and  the  bright 
spring  gowns  and  blossoming  hats  of  the  oretty  girls  who 
had  flocked  to  watch  and  applaud  their  brothers  and 
friends — or  more  than  friends — gave  it  the  various  hues  of 
a  huge  but  incoherent  kaleidescope.  A  romantic  glamour 
surrounds  those  great  athletic  meets  of  antiquity — the 
Olympic  games.  But  after  all,  what  tame  affairs  they  must 
have  been,  since  no  women  were  allowed  to  witness  them ! 
Whether  the  ancient  records  are  beaten  now-a-days  or  not, 
no  one  can  say,  and  no  one  much  cares.  But  what  a  pity 
the  old  Greek  champions  could  not  have  had  the  supreme 
pleasure  of  winning  their  victories  in  the  very  sight  of  the 
girls  for  whose  good  opinion  they  cared  as  much,  no  doubt, 
as  do  their  modern  successors ! 

44 


A    TALE    OF    TWO    FRESHMEN 

Among  the  soberer  groups  of  dark-clothed  youths  who 
thronged  the  track  and  field,  shone  an  occasional  white-clad 
athlete,  while  on  every  hand,  in  knots  and  flags  and 
streamers,  waved  and  floated  the  colors  of  the  rival  colleges ; 
the  dark  green  of  Dartmouth,  the  rich  purples  of  Amherst 
and  of  Williams,  the  sober  brown  of  the  Rhode  Island 
college,  the  steel  gray  and  cardinal  of  Tech,  the  gleaming 
v/hite  of  Bowdoin. 

One  young  fellow  who  sat  far  back  in  the  stand,  an 
inconspicuous  knot  of  white  in  his  buttonhole,  watched  it 
all  with  a  strange  blending  of  enjoyment  and  unhappiness. 
It  was  Dexter  Morgan,  who,  on  his  way  back  to  Brunswick, 
found  himself  entirely  unable  to  resist  the  temptation  to 
leave  his  train  at  Worcester  and  follow  the  crowds  out  from 
the  city  to  the  oval.  It  was  perhaps  the  instinct  of  the  born 
athlete,  who  never  willingly  misses  a  public  contest  in  the 
sports  he  loves,  though  there  was  at  bottom  another  reason, 
too,  a  newborn  interest  in  his  own  college  and  its  team. 

He  had  found  his  father  very  ill,  but  not,  as  he  had 
feared,  dying.  He  had  waited  until  the  doctors  declared 
him  well  on  the  road  to  recovery  and  had  a  few  serious 
talks  with  him  as  he  sat  by  the  bedside.  What  passed 
between  them  Dexter  never  told.  Whatever  it  was,  it  was 
the  final  influence  in  the  process  of  effecting  a  good  and 
permanent  amendment  in  his  disposition.  Now  as  he  sat 
by  himself  in  the  stand,  he  wished  heartily  that  he  might  be 
down  there  with  the  rest,  wearing  his  "Bowdoin"  proudly 
across  his  bosom,  and  ready  to  do  what  he  could  for  the 
honor  of  his  college.  The  snap  of  the  referee's  pistol  as 
the  hundred-yard  trials  began,  broke  in  upon  his  revery, 
and  he  found  himself  suddenly  upon  his  feet,  watching  long- 
legged  Jack  Stillings  romp  away  from  his  field,  and  shout- 

45 


TALES    OF    BOWDOIN 

ing  lustily  as  he  breasted  the  tape  five  yards  in  the  lead. 
A  few  moments  later  he  was  cheering  Kip  White,  whose 
ruddy  shock  of  hair  rose  and  fell  as  hurdle  after  hurdle  was 
cleared,  and  finally,  though  hard  pushed  in  the  flat  by  a  big 
Williams  runner,  flashed  by  the  judges  in  first  place. 
'* Skinner''  Jones  he  saw  draw  a  second  in  the  quarter-mile, 
and  Stump  Grattan  in  spite  of  his  short  legs  attained  a  simi- 
lar distinction  in  the  low  hurdles.  Over  in  the  field  he 
could  see  Bemis  and  Forster  hurling  the  discus  with 
encouraging  strenuousness,  while  the  staccato  yell  of  a  small 
but  earnest  band  of  Bowdoin  rooters  further  down  the  stand 
set  his  blood  to  tingling  with  the  thrill  of  the  occasion. 

He  could  not  sit  still,  and  paced  up  and  down  at  the  back 
of  the  stand,  eager  to  join  the  other  wearers  of  the  white, 
but  not  sufficiently  sure  of  the  reception  which  would  be 
accorded  him  to  make  the  venture.  On  every  hand  he  could 
hear  surpnsed  comments  on  the  strength  of  the  team  the 
Maine  college  had  sent  out  and  confident  predictions  that 
the  race  would  lie  between  Bowdoin,  Dartmouth  and  Brown. 
Then  he  had  to  watch  the  mile  run  drag  its  slow  length 
along,  the  single  Bowdoin  entry,  poor  old  Dietrich,  falling 
further  and  further  behind  at  every  stride. 

"Oh,  why  don't  you  run!  run!  you  lobster!"  he  growled 
to  himself.  "Put  your  head  back  and  climb!  Confound 
him  !  he's  stopping!  My  soul,  what  an  exhibition !"  and  he 
clenched  his  fists  in  fierce  indignation. 

He  heard  a  man  wearing  the  green  laugh  sarcastically. 
"They  don't  train  'stayers'  up  in  Maine,"  he  was  saying  to 
a  pretty  girl  who  sat  beside  him.  "They'll  never  beat  us 
out  without  a  point  or  two  in  the  distance  events.  Look 
at  Symmes  spurt!  There's  five  more  points  for  old 
Da-di-di-Dartmouth !     Wow !" 

46 


A    TALE    OF    TWO    FRESHMEN 

Suddenly  as  he  listened,  irritated  unreasonably  by  the 
man's  enthusiasm,  Dexter  was  struck  by  a  bold  idea.  To 
think  was  generally  to  act  with  him,  and  a  few  moments 
later  he  was  pushing  his  wa}^  across  the  track  and  through 
the  crowd  to  Kip  White's  side.  The  captain  was  watching 
the  pole  vaulting,  and  coaching  Berny  Sweeney,  who  was 
struggling  for  third  place  with  two  other  unfortunates,  red 
in  the  face  with  the  violence  of  his  efforts  at  levitation. 
Dexter  touched  him  on  the  arm. 

"Hullo,  Morgan,"  was  White's  cool  greeting.  "Where 
are  you  from?" 

Dexter  did  not  think  the  obvious  answer  needed  to  be 
made.     He  plunged  at  once  into  more  important  matters. 

"What's  the  outlook?"  he  inquired. 

White  looked  at  him  with  some  surprise.  "Well,  we've 
got  a  fighting  chance,"  he  said.  "We've  gfot  seventeen 
points  sure,  and  a  few  more  to  come. — Now,  Berny,  don't 
try  to  jump  it.  1  his  is  no  high  jump.  Keep  cool  and  push 
like  hell  with  your  arms.  Don't  get  rattled.  You've  got 
that  Amherst  man  winded  now.  You  can  last  him  out. 
Every  point  counts,  you  know."  Then  turning  again  to 
Morgan  he  went  on :  "You  saw  'em  run  old  Dutchy  off  his 
feet,  I  suppose?  Well,  we  haven't  anything  else  up  our 
sleeve.  Bemis  will  collect  a  point  or  perhaps  three  in  the 
shot,  and  Berny  here  will  get  a  third,  I  think,  but  I  can't 
figure  out  more  than  twenty-three  anyhow.  Dartmouth 
will  do  twenty-five  anyway,  arrd  so  will  Brown — perhaps 
more.  We're  still  in  the  ring,  but  I  guess  about  third  will 
have  to  do  us." 

"Have  you  got  some  running  clothes  at  the  dressing 
rooms  that  I  could  wear?"  asked  Dexter  quietly.  "We'll 
have  to  be  quick  about  it,  I  suppose ;  the  two-mile  will  be  on 
before  very  long." 

47 


TALES    OF   BOWDOIN 

White  wheeled  sharply  and  looked  the  Freshman  straight 
in  the  face.  "Morgan,"  he  said,  "if  you  pull  us  out  of  this, 
we'll  never  forget  it." 

When  the  entries  for  the  two-mile  run  lined  up  before 
the  stand,  the  afternoon  sun  was  hanging  low,  but  the 
excitement  of  the  day  was  at  its  height.  Bowdoin  had 
twenty-two  points,  Dartmouth  and  Brown  each  twenty- 
three.  Nothing  else  except  the  high  jumping  remained 
unfinished,  and  that,  as  it  happened,  could  not  seriously 
affect  the  standing  of  the  leaders.  The  two-mile  run  must 
decide  the  result,  and  the  event  was  held  to  lie  between 
Symmes  who  had  gallantly  won  the  one-mile  for  Dart- 
mouth, and  W^allis  of  Brown.  The  new  runner  in  Bow- 
doin's  colors  attracted  the  attention  of  expert  observers  by 
his  splendid  build,  but  he  was  only  an  inexperienced 
Freshman  and  could  not  be  expected  to  do  better  than 
third.  Bowdoin's  supporters,  already  hoarse  with  vocif- 
•erous  endeavors,  were  moreover  stricken  dumb  with  sur- 
prise at  the  sight  of  Morgan  the  irreconcilable,  actually  there 
on  the  track,  ready  to  run  for  his  college.  While  they 
debated  whether  or  not  their  organs  of  vision  were  to  be 
relied  on,  the  pistol  cracked  and  the  race  beg^an  without  a 
single  cheer  for  their  representative.  Only  In  his  ear 
resounded  White's  whispered  words: 

"Go  in  and  win,  old  man.  You  can  do  it.  We  won't 
forget  this." 

For  seven  of  the  eight  laps  the  race  as  usual  lacked 
every  element  of  dramatic  effectiveness.  The  pace-makers 
capered  out  in  front  and  ran  themselves  into  exhaustion 
without  disturbing  the  serenity  of  the  real  contestants ;  the 
young  Freshman  from  Bowdoin,  was  not  as  they  had  hoped, 
even  momentarily  flighty.  He  stuck  doggedly  to  Wallis's 
heels,  for  he  felt  that  this  was  the  man  to  watch.     Symmes 

48 


A    TALK    O?   TWO    FRESHMEN 

had  already  run  a  bruising  race,  and  was  not  fresh.  As  the 
gong  rang  at  the  commencement  of  the  final  lap  the  pent-up 
excitement  broke  loose  in  cheers  and  yells,  and  among  them 
Dexter  heard  a  snappy  "B-o-w-d-o-i-n,"  and  then  in  a  clam- 
orous shout  his  own  name. — "Morgan !"  His  pulse  quick- 
ened instinctively. 

And  now  Symmes  and  Wallis  moved  out  away  from  the 
other  rumiers  who  had  laboriously  kept  within  a  dozen 
yards  or  so  of  them — but  close  behind  them,  not  to  be  dis- 
lodged, was  Morgan.  He  was  surprised  to  find  how  easily 
he  ran :  the  training  he  had  had  was  so  irreg^ular  and  insuffi- 
cient that  he  had  feared  a  collapse.  But  he  was  not  in  the 
slightest  distress.  He  had  been  running  greater  distances 
than  two  miles  all  the  winter  and  all  the  spring,  and  was 
well  within  himself.  Symmes  was  spurting  now,  trying  in 
vain  to  draw  away  from  his  two  pursuing  shadows.  Dexter 
could  see  his  elbows  laboring  with  the  stimulated  pace.  But 
the  gap  did  not  widen.  On  the  contrary  Wallis  and  Morgan 
closed  up  steadily.  Symmes  had  shot  his  bolt.  His  spurt 
had  been  made  too  early,  and  he  lacked  the  stamina  to  pro- 
long it.  Dexter  wondered  dimly  as  he  ran  what  the  man 
whose  contemptuous  laughter  at  poor  Dietrich's  expense 
had  so  exasperated  him,  thought  about  "stayers"  now. 

Round  the  back  stretch  they  went,  the  confused  shouts 
of  the  crowd  remote  in  a  seemingly  infinite  distance.  Now 
they  were  passing  Symmes,  who  was  done  for,  but  strug- 
gled gamely  on,  and  Wallis  in  turn  was  trying  by  a  burst 
of  speed  to  shake  off  his  only  dangerous  competitor.  It  was 
not  to  be  done.  Dexter  was  breathing  hard,  his  head,  over- 
charged with  blood,  spun  dizzily,  his  legs  seemed  moving 
in  erratic  defiance  of  his  will,  but  he  had  not  lost  an  inch. 
Round  the  turn  into  the  home  stretch  thev  swung — they 
two, — with  the  championship  hanging  on  the  issue. 
c  49 


TALES    O?   BOWDOIN 

Dexter  had  run  more  than  one  hard  race  in  his  school- 
days, but  never  such  a  race  as  this.  The  sprint  had  been 
continuous  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  and  with  his 
irregular  training  he  felt  the  strain  badly.  His  lungs 
seemed  bursting;  it  hurt  to  draw  each  panting  breath. 
Things  blurred  before  him,  his  blood  hammered  thunder- 
ously in  his  ears.  He  felt  that  he  was  exhausted,  that  he 
must  give  up,  and  yet  so  long  as  that  other  bobbing  automa- 
ton a  yard  in  front  of  him  kept  on  running,  so  must  he. 

Suddenly,  as  if  by  some  trick,  he  found  himself  side  by 
side  with  Wallis,  who  had  swerved  toward  the  rail.  Again 
a  few  strides,  and  he  could  only  see  his  rival  out  of  the  tail 
of  his  eye.  He  could  not  understand  at  first.  It  seemed 
too  much  to  believe  that  the  other  had  weakened,  that  he 
himself  was  actually  winning.  Before  he  could  settle  the 
thing  in  his  puzzled  brain,  he  was  aware  of  a  dim  blur  of 
shouting  people  on  either  side  of  the  track,  and  straight 
ahead  among  a  group  who  faced  him  he  saw  a  tall  youth 
with  bright  red  hair  who  leaped  up  and  down,  and  waved 
his  arms  in  the  air. 

Then  across  his  chest  he  felt  the  soft,  yielding  pressure 
of  the  tape,  and  stumbling  blindly  on,  he  lay  at  last  closely 
enfolded  in  Kip  White's  embrace,  while  around  them  danced 
a  score  of  demented  young  gentlemen,  who  howled  without 
intermission  a  refrain  which  seemed  to  consist  of  a  selected 
portion  of  the  alphabet,  varied  by  something  which  sounded 
very  much  like  his  own  name.  It  was  an  ag^reeable  occa- 
sion, he  felt,  though  he  would  have  appreciated  it  more  if 
he  had  not  been  so  tired. 

"Kip,"  he  said  between  long  breaths,  as  they  led  him,  still 
the.  center  of  the  bounding  group,  to  the  dressing  room, 
"IVe  been  several  sorts  of  a  fool  this  winter.  Do  you  think 
the  fellows  will  forget  it,  and  give  me  a  fresh  start  ?" 

50 


A    TAI.^    0?   TWO    ]?RESHMKN 


"Don't  you  worry,  Colonel,"  replied  White,  knighting 
him,  as  it  were,  upon  the  field  of  victory,  with  the  intimate 
name  he  was  to  bear  among  his  college  fellowship ;  " YouVe 
earned  the  right  to  be  any  kind  of  a  fool  you  like." 


IV 

On  Monday  evening,  a  great  bonfire  roared  gloriously 
before  King  Chapel,  its  flickering  blaze  throwing  the  mas- 
sive granite  front  and  the  graceful  twin  spires  in  golden 
relief  against  the  sombre  darkness  of  the  sky.  Upon  the 
steps  of  the  historic  building  stood  the  victorious  team,  self- 
conscious  and  embarrassed  by  their  conspicuous  position, 
while  all  the  college  sang  and  danced  and  shouted  in  their 
honor.  Moreover,  that  the  tribute  of  noise  might  never 
slacken,  a  band  hired  for  the  occasion  executed  martial 
music  with  more  spirit  than  harmony,  in  the  background. 

Least  demonstrative,  yet  perhaps  most  joyful  of  all,  was 
Charley  Man-yat,  who  had  been  going  about  in  a  daze  of 
incredulous  bliss  since  the  news  of  Morgan's  share  in  the 
great  result  had  come.  The  limit  of  his  capacity  for  sheer 
ecstasy  of  happiness  was  reached  when  his  idolized  friend 
was  called  on  for  a  speech  amidst  the  frenzied  acclamations 
of  the  fellows,  who  but  a  few  days  before  would  have  had 
but  the  coldest  of  nods  for  him  had  they  met  on  street  or 
campus. 

Dexter  was  pale  with  excitement  and  fatigue,  but  his  fine 
presence  and  dignified  manner,  inheritances  from  his  distin- 
guished father,  made  him  in  spite  of  his  youth  and  embar- 
rassment, a  genuinely  commanding  figure. 

"I  have  done  nothing  to  call  for  this  honor."  he  said  when 
the  cheers  at  last  had  died  away.     "You  all  know  how  fool- 

51 


TAI.SS    0]?   BOWDOIN 

ishly  I  have  behaved  since  I  came  to  collegfe.  I'm  glad  if  I 
have  been  able  to  do  anything  which  may  help  to  repair  the 
mistakes  I  have  made,  and  testify  to  my  present  love  for 
old  Bowdoin.  Henceforth,  if  it  lies  in  me,  I  am  going  to  be 
as  good  a  Bowdoin  man  as  any  of  you.  Some  of  the  boys 
have  complimented  me  by  saying  the  race  I  was  fortunate 
enough  to  win  brought  the  championship  to  Bowdoin.  If 
it  did.  I  want  to  tell  you  that  it's  not  me  vou  have  to  thank, 
but  the  man  who  showed  me  what  the  college  was,  and 
what  I  owed  to  it.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  him.  there  wouldn't 
have  been  any  Bowdoin  man  in  the  two-mile  event,  and  per- 
haps, therefore,  there  wouldn't  have  been  anv  championship 
to  celebrate  tonight.  You  all  know  who  I  mean,  I  think, — 
Charley  Marryat." 

There  was  another  roaring  cheer,  for  Morgan  and  Mar- 
ryat together  this  time,  and  here  through  the  crowd  came  a 
band  of  dishevelled  Freshmen  bearing  on  unsteady  shoul- 
ders, Charley's  feebly  struggling  form.  Up  to  the  steps 
they  staggered,  and  there  in  the  midst  of  the  heroes  of  the 
day  they  deposited  him — a  blushing,  boyish  little  figure, 
who  could  not  yet  make  out  what  it  was  all  about.  But 
Dexter  Morgan's  big,  friendly  hand  reached  out  of  the  con- 
fusing half-darkness  and  drew  him  close,  while  amidst  the 
tumult  of  the  shouting  men  and  the  blaring-  band  he  heard 
Dexter's  voice  in  his  ear: 

"There,  Kid,  are  you  satisfied  now?  Don't  ever  let  me 
hear  you  say  you  can't  do  anything  for  the  college,  for 
you've  brought  the  championship  to  Bowdoin." 


ST.  SIMEON  STYLITES 

Kenneth  C.  M.  Sills,  'oi 


ST.  SIMEON   STYUTES 


^^7T  LL  ready,  fellows !  Remember  I'll  say  one,  two,  three, 
r\  forward!  Start  on  the  left.  Left!  Right!  Left! 
Right!  Left!  Keep  in  step,  Si!  Hat  on  straight,  Tom! 
All  ready.  One!  Two!  HuUoa,  where's  St.  Simeon?" 
And  the  marshal  looked  about  searchingly. 

The  long  line  of  Juniors,  capped  and  gowned,  patiently 
marked  time.  Half  way  down  on  the  right  there  was  a 
vacancy.  Two  or  three  minutes  later  St.  Simeon  came  in 
and  took  his  place  seriously ;  but  as  he  was  always  serious 
his  fixed  stare  passed  by  unnoticed.  Jack  Bryant,  the  mar- 
shal, signalled  to  the  orchestra  on  Memorial  stage,  raised 
his  white  and  green  decked  baton.  "Left!  Right!  Left! 
Right!  One,  two  three,  forward!"  and  the  line  went 
slowly  thudding  up  the  aisle. 

Memorial  Hall  had  its  usual  Ivy  Day  crowd — the  expect- 
ant mothers,  the  passive  fathers,  the  pretty  sisters.  And  of 
course  each  proud  Junior  on  his  way  to  the  stage  hoped  to 
see  his  own  friends.  As  the  slowly-marching  class  reached 
the  center  of  the  hall,  one  maiden  whispered  loudly  to 
another:  "That's  St.  Simeon  there,  isn't  it?"  The  man 
designated  nearly  blushed ;  for  he  had  never  been  prominent 
in  any  way  during  his  college  course.  He  had  never  been 
pointed  out  in  his  life.  For  three  years  so  quietly,  so  much 
to  himself  had  he  lived  that  when  the  class  got  to  studying 
Tennyson  in  English  Lit,  someone  had  dubbed  him  "St. 

55 


TALi;S    Olf   BOWDOIN 

Simeon  Stylites,"  and  the  hastily  bestowed  nickname  had 
stuck. 

The  girl  who  knew  him  was  uncommonly  pretty — else 
what  were  the  use  of  this  tale?- — slight  and  tall  with  dark 
hair  and  brown  eyes,  and  a  big  picture  hat.  She  wore  a 
simple  white  frock.  She  must  be  the  cousin  of  Ted  Briggs, 
Kathleen  North,  whom  St.  Simeon  was  booked  to  take 
to  the  dance  that  evening.  It  seemed  a  pleasant  prospect 
but  St.  Simeon  gave  just  the  slightest  semblance  of  a  sigh 
as  the  line  passed  on.  At  the  stage  it  separated  and  wound 
its  slow  way  up  over  the  steps  and  sat  down  as  one  man. 

Soon  the  Ivy  Orator  was  holding  forth.  His  words 
sounded  sing-song:  for  it  was  hard  to  see  the  relation  of 
the  Philippines  to  a  Bowdoin  Ivy  Day.  St.  Simeon  began 
to  ponder  over  other  things.  Only  half  an  hour  ago  he  was 
hunting  his  room  over  for  his  cap — he  was  always  looking 
for  his  cap.  Then  long  after  the  starting  time  he  bounded 
down  the  End  stairs.  There  was  need  of  hurrying.  Just 
as  he  was  running  down  the  stone  steps  the  Western  Union 
messenger  boy  rode  up  on  his  wheel. 

"Telegram  for  any  one?" 

"Yes,  Gordon  Fox." 

"Hulloa !  That's  for  me.  Probably  an  Ivy.  message 
from  dad.  He  knew  I  was  to  have  a  part  today."  And  St. 
Simeon  tore  the  yellow  envelope  open  jaggedly.  The  cable- 
gram was  dated  from  Rome  that  morning  and  read : 

"Dr.  Fox  tliecl  of  fever  here  Thursday.    Burial  Friday. 

T.  H.  JOHNSTON, 

U.  S.  Consul.'^ 

St.  Simeon  quickly  signed  the  messenger's  book,  then 
staggered  back.  His  father — gone — and  way,  way  off  in 
Rome.  His  father  who  had  always  seemed  so  young  to 
him, — who  was  looking  forward  to  his  son's  doing  well  on 

56 


ST.    SIMEON   STYUTES 

this  very  Ivy  Day, — who  knew  what  it  all  meant,  for  he  was 
a  Bowdoin  man  himself.  Everything  seemed  terribly  black 
to  the  poor  boy.  He  opened  his  gown  and  crumpled  the 
yellov/  paper  into  his  pocket.  He  stood  there  on  the  steps 
thinking  for  a  moment  or  two,  Tt  would  not  be  plucky  to 
give  up  his  part  now.  Yet  it  was  not  clear  that  he  could  get 
through.  He  walked  towards  Memorial  very  slowly.  A 
squirrel  by  the  side  of  the  path  looked  up  curiously.  The 
little  fellow  was  trundling  a  big  nut;  and,  as  St.  Simeon 
passed,  he  covered  it  with  a  huge  leaf  and  scampered  blithely 
away. 

The  next  instant  St.  Simeon  somehow  or  other  found  his 
mind  made  up.  Try  to  forget  that  missive  he  must,  and  go 
on  with  his  response.  His  father  would  not  have  willed 
him  to  falter.  He  hurried  on  and  joined  the  line  just  as 
Ted  Briggs  was  starting  after  him.  As  he  saw  Ted  he 
determined  to  say  nothing  to  any  of  his  friends  on  that  day 
for  fear  of  marring  their  pleasure. 

The  orator  was  drawing  on  to  the  end  of  his  part.  In  his 
peroration  he  spoke  of  a  soldier's  pluck.  St.  Simeon  braced 
himself  involuntarily.  The  poem  which  followed  was  a 
dreary  affair;  the  exercises  seemed  predestined  to  failure. 
The  president,  a  close  friend  of  St.  Simeon's,  looked  wor- 
ried. As  the  poet  went  on  with  gushing  lines  about  Spring 
Summer  and  Autumn  and  Winter,  St.  Simeon's  thoughts 
again  strayed.  He  looked  down  at  the  pretty  girl  in  the 
audience  with  the  big  hat  and  the  brown  eyes.  Almost  a 
week  before  Ivy,  Ned  Briggs  had  come  to  St,  Simeon  for 
help.  He  was  overwhelmed  with  two  girls  who  had  both 
unexpectedly  accepted ;  and  St.  Simeon  must  take  one.  He 
had  chosen  Miss  North  whom  he  had  seen  for  a  few 
moments  at  a  Junior  assembly.  How  eagerly  he  had  looked 
forward  to  Ivy  Hop  it  was  now  idle  to  think. 

57 


TALES    OF    BOWDOIN 

When  the  poet  had  finished  the  orchestra  played  some 
movement  that  sounded  much  Hke  a  dirg^e.  St.  Simeon 
pulled  at  his  watch ;  as  he  did  so  he  felt  the  crumpled  tele- 
gram. He  wondered  if  his  father  had  been  buried  yet,  if 
perhaps  his  body  was  that  very  hour  being  borne  down  the 
aisle  of  the  English  church  at  Rome.  People  asked  why 
such  solemn  music  was  chosen  for  Ivy  Day;  but  to  St. 
Simeon  it  seemed  very  natural. 

The  president  got  up  to  give  the  customary  class  history 
and  then  to  make  the  Ivy  presentations.  The  first  two 
responses  fell  absolutely  flat.  The  exercises  were  evidently 
a  failure.  St.  Simeon  trembled.  It  was  his  turn  now. 
The  president  introduced  him  rather  wittily,  as  "Mr.  Gordon 
Fox,  the  world  renowned,  tower-dwelling  saint  of  the  class." 
St.  Simeon  thought  of  getting  through  quickly,;  but  he 
threw  his  whole  self  into  the  speech.  His  wit  and  quaint 
cynicism  made  folks  wonder  if  Bowdoin  had  ever  heard  a 
more  brilliant  response  in  all  her  Ivy  days.  Some  Seniors 
gasped  when  the  quiet  St.  Simeon  was  given  a  part;  they 
gasped  more  as  he  spoke  on.  His  thrusts  at  his  fellow 
classmen  made  them  "wood"  more  than  thrice;  his  gentle 
and  humorous  raillery  won  over  the  audience.  He  was  the 
saving  remnant  of  the  afternoon. 

When  he  got  through,  the  people  in  the  crowded  hall 
almost  cheered  him.  He  saw  Kathleen  North  clapping 
mightily.  Then  he  sat  down.  The  whirlwind  of  applause 
seemed  strange  to  him.  It  was  not  right,  he  thought.  He 
wished  his  father  were  here  instead  of  in  Europe  with  a  sick 
patient.  Suddenly  a  picture  stood  out  before  his  eyes. 
There  was  a  bare  room  with  staring  white-washed  walls,  a 
little  shrine  in  one  corner,  and  in  the  center  a  bier  with  a 
heavy  pall.  A  man  of  brown  robe  anl  cowl  came  in  and 
knelt  down  crossing  himself  mechanically.      He  withdrew 

58 


ST.  sime:on  stylites 

instantly ;  and  St.  Simeon  again  saw  the  hats  and  colors  and 
dresses  of  the  Ivy  crowd. 

He  began  to  think  deeply.  Away  off  in  the  distance  he 
heard  the  Popular  Man  accepting  the  wooden  spoon.  There 
was  some  reference  to  "our  St.  Simeon ;"  and  the  audience 
broke  out  into  applause  again.  A  professor  whose  class  had 
started  Ivy  Day  said  to  a  young  girl  by  his  side,  "I  never 
heard  of  anything  like  that  before." 

The  orchestra  struck  up  another  march  and  the  class  went 
out  two  by  two,  slowly,  rhythmically.  St.  Simeon's  face 
was  flushed;  but  he  still  seemed  very  serious.  Everyone 
glanced  at  him  now ;  Kathleen  smiled  up  brigfhtly.  It  was 
hard  for  St.  Simeon  not  to  feel  his  triumph  bitter  and 
hollow. 

When  the  ivy  was  planted  and  the  ode  sung,  the  class  and 
every  one  else  hurried  over  to  the  Chapel.  St.  Simeon 
walked  quietly  with  a  couple  of  friends  who  warmly  hailed 
him.  One  class-mate  who  had  had  a  response  ran  across  the 
campus,  tooting  a  horn  merrily,  his  gown  streaming  behind 
him.  When  the  Juniors  reached  the  gallery  above  the 
Chapel  the  bell  had  stopped  ringing  and  the  service  had 
begun.  Most  of  the  Juniors  looked  on  impressed.  St. 
Simeon  noticed  one  crouch  down  and  take  a  drink.  He 
himself  felt  faint  and  sick  at  heart.  The  Seniors  formed 
their  locked-step  ranks  and  marched  out  slowly.  Soon  the 
strains  of  "Auld  Lang  Syne"  arose.  Gordon  wondered  if 
they  had  Seniors'  Last  Chapel  when  his  father  was  in  col- 
lege. The  next  moment  he  was  repeating  the  graceful  lines 
of  a  young  graduate : 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 
Though  some  stand  low  and  some  stand  high, 

Though  some  be  rich  and  some  be  poor 
And  some  be  early  doomed  to  die? 

59 


TALES    O^    BOWDOIN 


To  some  "will  fall  the  victor's  crown, 
The  honors  and  the  joys  of  life, 

But  some  in  sorrow  must  sink  down 
And  perish  in  the  world's  great  strife. 


A  Junior  or  two  had  already  started  down  the  Library 
steps.  St.  Simeon  slipped  away,  ran  quickly  to  the  End, 
and  laid  aside  his  gown.  He  went  out  past  the  Gym  to  the 
pines  by  the  Whittier  Field.  He  was  at  last  by  himself. 
Throwing  himself  down  on  the  ground  he  sobbed  as  if  his 
heart  would  break.  He  just  realized  that  he  w^as  all,  all 
alone  in  the  world.  He  thought  he  heard  someone  coming 
and  crept  in  under  some  bushes  and  lay  there  thinking.  His 
father  had  ever  been  a  brother  to  him — a  big  generous 
brother — and  now  he  was  dead  and  gone.  He  would  never 
know  of  his  son's  success  that  afternoon,  never  say  those 
few  words  of  praise  that  w^ould  mean,  oh  so  much ! 

Just  then  St.  Simeon  became  aware  of  footsteps  rustling 
over  the  pine  needles,  and  of  a  girl's  voice.  * 'Didn't  Gordon 
Fox  do  splendidly  this  afternoon?  I'm  going  with  him  to 
the  dance  to-night  you  know.  He's  a  great  friend  of 
Ted's."  Her  companion  gave  a  grudging  sort  of  a  reply 
and  the  two  passed  on.  Gordon  wondered  what  he  should 
do  about  to-night ;  he  must  not  let  Ted  know,  and  mar  his 
fun.  He  left  the  question  undecided  and  walked  down 
town.  Everyone  was  at  supper.  He  bought  an  evening 
paper  with  a  long  account  of  Ivy  Day;  it  spoke  much  of 
Gordon  Fox,  the  son  of  the  well-known  physician.  This 
was  the  very  paper  he  had  counted  on  mailing  to  his  father. 
His  sorrow  was  very  bitter  now ;  he  almost  cursed  Fate. 

On  his  way  up  Maine  street  a  town  girl  stopped  to  tell 
him  how  well  he  had  done.  He  thanked  her  formally  and 
hurried  on.  He  went  into  the  room  thinking  there  might 
be  another  cablegram.     Instead  he  found  a  note  from  Ted. 

60 


ST.  sime:on  stylites 

"We've  all  gone  down  to  the  Inn.    Couldn't  find  you  so  took  Jordan  in 
your  place.    Be  sure  to  turn  up  at  the  dance  with  Miss  North's  order. 

E.  J.  B." 

It  just  occurred  to  Gordon  that  he  had  made  out  the  Hst 
of  Miss  North's  partners  and  that  it  was  nearly  time  for  her 
to  have  it.  He  heard  a  Freshman  go  whistling  his  way  to 
his  room  on  the  top  floor.  St.  Simeon  called  him  back.  "If 
I'm  late  at  the  dance,  give  this  to  Ted,  will  you  ?  It's  Miss 
North's  order."  He  of  the  Freshman  class  gave  a  long  gaze 
of  astonishment.  "Are  you  crazy,  Saint  ?  Late  for  a  dance 
with  Kathleen  North.  Why  I'd  fifty  times  rather  be  con- 
ditioned in  Buck."  And  the  desperate  little  fellow  hurried 
on. 

St.  Simeon  sat  down  in  his  desk-chair  and  lit  his  pipe. 
He  looked  over  the  evening  paper — not  a  line  about  his 
father.  All  the  words  became  blurred  and  the  praise  of  his 
own  response  was  intolerable.  He  got  up  and  went  into 
the  next  room.  "Time  to  get  ready  for  the  dance,  isn't  it, 
old  man?  Don't  you  forget  you  promised  me  one  with 
Miss  North,  will  you  ?"  And  Gates  stropped  his  razor  ner- 
vously. St.  Simeon  made  some  daft  reply  and  went  out  of 
the  End. 

It  was  about  half  past  eight  and  a  warm  night.  Gordon 
started  to  walk  through  the  Longfellow  Woods.  The  air 
was  very  soft  and  crickets  innumerable  were  chirping.  He 
found  a  log  in  the  woods  and  sat  down  smoking.  Although 
he  had  always  been  much  by  himself  he  never  knew  before 
how  soothing  solitude  is.  He  wondered  if  at  Rome  things 
were  as  beautiful.  It  was  so  still  there  in  the  woods  that 
he  walked  about  until  midnight.  As  he  passed  Memorial 
on  his  return  he  heard  a  waltz  clearly.  It  was  his  favorite 
"Donauweibchen."    He   wondered   what   Kathleen   North 

6i 


TAI,KS    OF   BOWDOIN 

thought  of  him  and  if  Jordan  were  absolutely  filling  his 
place.    Then  he  walked  back  to  the  End. 

He  still  felt  that  he  must  be  alone ;  and  for  fear  of  Ted's 
finding  him  he  went  into  a  Freshman's  room  whose  door  his 
key  fitted.  Towards  three  o'clock  he  began  to  hear  fellows 
coming  in  from  the  dance.  He  looked  out  the  window  just 
in  time  to  see  Jordan  and  Ted  pass  by.  "Where  in  the 
world  was  old  St.  Simeon  ?"  said  Ted.  "He  must  be  sick." 
"Ciuess  not,"  said  Jordan.  "You  know  he's  struck  on  a 
little  girl  up  at  Lewiston,  probably  he's  up  there.  My,  but 
he's  the  fool.  Kathleen  North  can  dance,  bov.  I  tell  you, 
and — "  The  two  went  in  and  their  door  slammed.  St. 
Simeon  still  looked  out  over  the  pines;  he  was  a  quiet 
thoughtful  boy ;  and,  as  he  gazed  at  the  great  stars,  he  kept 
asking  himself  what  and  where  his  father  was.  He  pon- 
dered on  the  mystery  until  it  was  almost  dawn.  Four  fel- 
lows, slightly  clad,  straggled  out  to  play  tennis ;  two  were 
young  alumni,  two  Seniors.  They  laid  down  the  stakes  and 
a  queer  match  followed.  Tim  Taylor,  rather  drunk,  strad- 
dled the  nei-pole,  acting  as  umpire.  St.  Simeon  watched 
their  antics  for  awhile ;  then  heard  them  discuss  the  belle  of 
the  ball ;  three  of  the  five  voted  for  Kathleen  North.  The 
alumni  won  the  set,  6-2 ;  and  the  players  and  umpire  left  the 
court  to  swallow  the  prize. 

The  sun  was  rising  now.  St.  Simeon  looked  up  the  cam- 
pus towards  the  Chapel.  A  peculiar  light  mist  hung  about 
the  trees  midway  from  the  ground ;  just  a  faint  streak  of 
fog.  St  Simeon  went  out  again  for  the  air  seemed  to  soothe 
him  as  a  quiet  physician.  A  chickadee  or  two  gave  the  long 
drawn  note  preceded  by  a  short  one,  a  haunting  melancholy 
cry.  Soon  all  the  birds  began  their  matins.  Gordon  felt 
happier.  He  wondered  if  his  father  had  been  laid  to  rest  in 
that  beautiful  Protestant  burial  ground  at  Rome  that  he  had 

62 


ST.    SIMEON    STYLITES 

read  about  where  were  the  graves  of  Keats  and  Shelley ;  a 
place  he  remembered  "to  make  one  fall  in  love  with  death." 
The  thought  gave  him  some  comfort.  He  started  on  a  long 
walk  through  fields  and  woods.  Soon  he  met  a  boy  driving 
a  herd  of  cows  to  the  morning's  milking.  The  kine  looked 
at  him  pityingly  from  their  big,  beautiful  eyes.  There  was  a 
sweet  smell  from  their  overflowing  udders.  The  boy 
greeted  him  and  gave  him  a  drink  of  fresh,  foaming  milk. 
It  was  the  first  little  streak  of  light  in  a  verv  dark  and  dull 
and  lowering  horizon.  St.  Simeon  was  beginning  to  see 
that  if  he  must  live  out  the  rest  of  his  life  without  the  help 
of  one  who  had  done  everything  for  him,  even  milk-boys 
and  squirrels  and  woods  and  fields  were  dear  companions. 
His  father  had  talked  to  him  often  of  a  love  for  God's  out- 
of-doors.  He  remembered  much  being  said  of  Nature 
when  the  class  was  studying  Wordsworth  and  Burns.  Now 
he  began  to  see  a  little  of  the  much  that  it  all  meant. 

Before  he  knew  it,  he  was  back  near  the  campus ;  and  the 
bell  was  ringing  for  morning  chapel.  He  turned  in  from 
Maine  street  thoughtlessly  and  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  Ted  and  Kathleen  and  the  whole  party.  Ted  was 
ahead  with  his  other  girl  and  Kathleen  turned  around  to 
speak  to  St.  Simeon.     She  held  out  her  hand  cordially. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Fox.  Where  were  you  last  night, 
you  deserter?'' 

St.  Simeon  still  looked  serious  and  care-worn.  "If  you'll 
take  a  short  walk  with  me,  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,"  he  said. 
"Ted's  too  interested  to  care  about  me  now,  but  if  you 
want  to — " 

And  the  two  walked  through  Longfellow  Woods;  and 
there  he  told  her  everything.  "I  am  so  sorry^  so  very 
sorry"  she  said ;  and  St.  Simeon  knew  that  Kathleen  North 
was  a  girl  who  meant  each  one  of  her  words. 

63 


WHEN  THE  SELF-SENDER 

WALKED  HOME 


C.  A.  Stephens,  '69 


WHEN  THE  SELE-SENDER  WALKED   HOME 

Up  to  1880  fully  thirty  per  cent,  of  all  Bowdoin  men  were 
"self-senders" — a  term  that  needed  no  explanation 
when  I  was  there,  late  in  the  sixties. 

At  the  opening  of  the  college  year,  in  September,  when 
the  Sophomores  and  upper  classmen  were  inspecting  the 
new  Freshmen,  with  a  view  to  taking  them  into  the  societies, 
etc.,  a  common  question  concerning  each  was,  "Who  sends 
him?" — ^the  answer  being  usually,  "His  folks,"  or  "Sends 
himself."  There  was,  it  is  true,  an  intermediate  caste  or 
grade,  in  part  assisted  by  parents,  or  friends ;  but  the  self- 
senders,  pure  and  simple,  were  about  thirty  per  cent. 

How  this  runs  since  1880  I  am  not  well  informed,  but 
believe  the  per  cent,  to  be  less,  as  it  naturally  would  be,  with 
the  increase  of  wealth  in  the  country.  The  subject  is  not 
wholly  pertinent  to  my  present  homely  narrative,  and  is 
introduced  merely  as  a  prelude  to  declaring  my  own  caste 
there ;  I  was  a  self-sender,  and  at  times  a  wildly  distressed 
one.  In  truth,  the  under-graduate  whose  bills  are  honored 
by  the  paterfamilias  and  who  has  only  to  attend  to  athletics 
and  the  curriculum,  has  and  can  have,  no  idea  of  the  exigent 
mental  attitude  of  the  self-sender ;  he  is  quite  another  being. 

Eminent  educators  have  held,  I  believe,  that  more  than 
compensating  advantages  come  to  the  student  who  has  his 
own  way  to  make,  in  the  habits  of  thrift  and  self-reliance 
thus  fostered;  but  I  have  never  yet  met  a  bona  fide  self- 
sender  who  would  fully  endorse  this  view,  much  less  one 
who  would  voluntarily  subject  himself  to  such  a  discipline. 

67 


TALES    0^   BOWDOIN 

But  it  is  a  fine  topic  for  the  self-made  man  and  others  to 
expatiate  on  to  the  young,  thirty  years  later,  when  they  have 
all  become  prosperous,  and  after  a  good  dinner.  It  requires 
about  that  amount  of  perspective  to  be  really  enjoyable. 

My  own  idta  is  that  the  uncertainty,  worrv,  fret,  fear, 
envy  and  other  ignoble  emotions  that  periodicallv  agitate  the 
self -sender's  mind,  rather  more  than  offset  any  good  that 
accrues  to  him  from  his  scrimping  and  self-reliance.  But 
cases  and  temperaments  differ,  no  doubt.  Some  boys  have 
better  heads  for  managing  these  things ;  some  bear  the  pres- 
sure of  debt  with  equanimity  and  a  calm  confidence  in  the 
future.  One  of  my  college-mates,  I  remember,  was  always 
smiling,  always  happy,  always  whistling  and  carrolling  like 
a  bob-o'-iink,  though  he  owed  everybody  from  two  old 
aunties  at  home,  to  "Gripus"  at  the  college  book  store; — 
and  he  who  could  owe  "Gripus"  and  yet  be  happy,  must 
needs  have  been  panoplied  with  more  than  Horatian  armor 
of  triple  brass.  But  the  men  of  later  years  don't  know 
"Gripus":    we  did. 

In  my  own  case,  the  joys  of  college  life  were  frequently 
devastated  by  financial  crashes  which  I  had  not  the  skill  or 
the  sagacity  to  forestall  and  stave  ofif ;  or  rather.  I  did  stave 
them  oif  too  long,  and  held  on  till  the  bottom  fell  clean  out. 

One  such  overtook  me  near  the  end  of  the  Fall  term  of^the 
Sophomore  year.  All  my  small  monetary  expedients  had 
gone  wrong.  An  incautious  expenditure  in  furnishing  my 
room  (No.  2,  Appleton  Hall)  began  the  trouble.  Bad  luck 
with  two  or  three  ventures  for  gain,  followed  on.  I  had 
been  agent  for  an  inexpensive  sewing  machine  during  the 
Summer  vacation ;  a  light  machine,  operated  by  a  crank ;  I 
carried  the  sample  about  the  country,  in  a  valise.  In  Sep- 
tember, I  intrusted  my  sample  and  three  other  machines  to 
a  sub-agent  who  was  to  sell  them  on  a  commission.     But 

68 


whe:n  the  sei^^-sender  wai^ked  home 

now — in  November — I  learned  that  he  had  sold  the  three 
machines  and  decamped  with  the  proceeds,  and  had  left  my 
sample  machine  and  valise  at  Yarmouth  railway  station.  A 
small  speculation,  too,  in  stove-wood  and  dried  apple,  at  the 
home  farm  up  in  Oxford  county,  which  I  had  deemed  a  sure 
thing,  had  come  to  naught  from  the  accidental  burning  of 
the  building  in  which  it  was  stored. 

In  brief,  my  whole  menage  had  collapsed.  I  was  bank- 
rupt. Even  my  steward  and  fellow  student  of  the  boarding- 
club  was  after  me,  with  suspicion  on  his  brow.  Him  I 
satisfied  by  leaving  my  Sophomore  books  with  "Gripus," 
on  an  advance  of  six  dollars.  My  last  dollar  was  then  in ; 
and  naught  remained  but  to  foot  it  home  via  Yarmouth,  to 
reclaim  the  "sample"  sewing  machine — my  only  available 
asset. 

Ah,  what  a  bleak  morning  that  was !  Bitterly  cold  with 
the  ground  hard  frozen,  and  beginning  to  spit  snow.  Yet 
even  the  hard,  whitening  earth  and  cold  gray  heavens  were 
less  bleak  than  my  financial  sky. 

After  a  last  vain  effort  to  mortgage  my  half  of  the  room 
furniture  to  my  chum  who  was  a  crafty  financier,  I  crossed 
the  campus — not  then  adorned  by  the  Art  Building  and 
Memorial  Hall — to  Gen.  Chamberlain's  cottage.  The  Gen- 
eral was  then  the  college  President  pro  tem ;  and  my  object 
in  calling  was  to  obtain  his  permission  to  withdraw  before 
term  closed  and  seek  the  sanctuary  of  home.  Thus  the 
hard-run  fox  as  a  last  resort  seeks  refuge  in  the  burrow  of 
cub-hood.  I  had  the  promise  of  the  district  school,  in  the 
home  neighborhood;  and  the  parental  farm-house  was  at 
least  good  for  a  few  weeks  board,  till  new  schemes  could  be 
hatched. 

Briefly  I  recounted  my  condition  to  the  General's  keenly 
appreciative  ear,  and  having  heard  it,  he  made  not  the  least 

69 


TALES    OF   BOWDOIN 

objection  to  my  immediate  departure.  He  agreed  with  me, 
nem  con,  that  home  was  the  best  place  for  me.  With  laugh- 
ter, but  a  cordial  hand-shake,  he  wished  me  a  pleasant  walk 
up  the  country  and  regretted  the  state  of  the  weather ! 

Dear,  kind  old  Professor  Packard  had  noted  that  I  was  in 
trouble  the  day  before,  and  had  made  it  in  his  way  to  join 
me  as  I  left  the  recitation  room.  Encouraged  too  far  by  his 
sympathy,  I  told  him  how  I  stood.  But  when  he  had 
grasped  the  full  significance  of  my  revelations,  even  his 
warm  heart  was  chilled.  In  all  his  experience  of  indigent 
Sophomores,  he  had  never  met  one  so  utterly  devoid  of 
resources.  He  acknowledged  with  regret  that  he  knew  not 
what  to  advise  me. 

I  have  a  vague  faith  still  that  "Billy,"  (Prof.  William 
Smythe  author  of  the  Algebras  and  Calculus  and  who,  col- 
lege tradition  says  once  ciphered  himself  up  at  midnight 
from  the  bottom  of  the  college  well  into  which  he  had 
inadvertently  fallen)  might  have  figured  it  out  for  me,  in 
terms  of  x.  y.  and  z.,  if  only  I  could  have  taken  refuge  in 
one  of  his  equations ;  but  the  old  arithmetician  was  ill  in  bed 
that  week,  being  now  very  infirm,  and  so  missed  the  chance 
of  a  lifetime  to  perform  one  final,  famous  feat  in  those 
abstruse  mathematics  which  he  loved  so  well  and  long. 
Could  he  have  rescued  me  that  morning — and  I  have  always 
half  believed  he  could — not  far  below  George  Washington 
himself  ought  he  now  to  be  sitting  in  Miss  Helen  Gould's 
new  Hall  of  Fame. 

But  no  help  came  to  me,  either  from  the  Chair  of  Moral 
Philosophy,  Revealed  Religion,  or  Mathematics;  and  but- 
toning up  my  old  overcoat,  I  set  off  along  the  railroad  track 
to  face  the  snowstorm  and  walk  to  Yarmouth,  thirteen  miles, 
there  get  my  abandoned  sample  sewing  machine,  and  then 
walk  home,  forty-seven  miles  from  Yarmouth,  sixty  in  all. 

70 


WHEN    THE    SEl/^-SENDER   WAI^KED    HOME 

It  soon  became  hard  walking  on  the  ties,  for  snow  was 
now  falling  fast;  but  I  reached  Yarmouth  by  noon  and 
recovering  my  property,  on  which,  luckily  for  me,  there  was 
no  storage  charge,  I  sat  down  in  the  station  to  eat  a  meager 
bit  in  the  way  of  a  lunch  which,  mindful  of  emergencies,  I 
had  privately  conveyed  to  my  pocket  from  the  club  break- 
fast table.  Then  for  an  hour  or  two  I  attempted  to  do  a 
little  sewing  machine  business  in  Yarmouth  village.  I 
hoped  to  sell  my  sample  machine  and  thus  be  able  to  take 
the  evening  train  home.  But  it  wasn't  a  good  day,  for  it ; 
the  women  cut  my  story  short,  snappishly;  an  ''agent"  of 
any  sort  was  persona  non  grata  that  bleak  afternoon.  Later, 
I  tried  to  dispose  of  the  machine  in  several  stores  and  at  a 
hardware  shop — quite  in  vain.  No  one  would  even  look  at 
it ;  there  did  not  seem  to  be  a  smile,  nor  a  bit  of  geniality 
that  day,  in  the  whole  place. 

I  had  staked  a  good  deal  of  time  on  hopes  of  selling  my 
sample  machine  in  Yarmouth ;  and  now,  at  two  of  the  shogt 
winter  afternoon,  found  myself  face  to  face  with  the  neces- 
sity of  reaching  home  that  night,  for  I  had  money  neither 
for  food,  nor  lodging. 

For  three  or  four  miles  I  plodded  along  the  railroad,  then 
as  the  snow  was  deepening  on  the  track,  I  diverged  to  a 
highway  off  to  the  left  of  the  line.  Here  by  good  chance,  as 
I  at  first  thought,  I  was  immediately  overtaken  by  a  man 
alone  in  a  large  pung,  driving  a  fat,  strong  horse.  He  wore 
a  broad-brimmed  hat  and  blue-drab  cloak,  and  he  proved  to 
be  a  Shaker  Elder,  returning  from  Portland  to  the  Shaker 
village  at  New  Gloucester. 

"Will  thee  ride,  friend?"  he  asked,  with  grave  kindness. 

''Thank  thee,  I  will,"  said  I,  and  immediately  conceived 
rosy  hopes  of  accompanying  him  home,  spending  the  night 
with  the  Shakers,  and  even  selling  them  my  sewing  machine. 

71 


tai,e:s  of  bowdoin 

I  had  heard  that  these  good  people  do  not  charge  wayfarers 
for  a  night's  lodging  and  food.  Accordingly,  I  set  myself 
to  beguile  the  way  and  amnse  the  Elder  with  lively  conver- 
sation. But  I  must  have  overdone  it,  I  think.  For  some 
reason  which  I  never  quite  understood,  the  Elder  suddenly 
froze  to  me.  Possibly  it  was  from  learning:  that  I  was  a 
college  student.  He  waxed  grim  and  became  as  mum  as 
an  oyster.  I  tried  him  further  with  two  humorous  stories ; 
but  he  never  cracked  a  smile  to  them ;  and  soon  after,  com- 
ing where  the  road  to  the  Shaker  village  diverged  from  the 
main  road,  he  pulled  up  for  me  to  get  out. 

Thereupon  I  asked  him  point  blank  to  let  me  go  home 
with  him,  over-night.  But  "Here  is  where  our  roads  sep- 
arate, friend,"  was  all  the  answer  he  vouchsafed  me. 

By  this  time  it  was  dark;  and  being  both  hungry  and 
cold,  I  applied  recklessly,  at  the  first  house  I  came  to,  for 
lodging  and  supper,  and  then  at  the  next  house  and  the 
D^xt ;  but  the  people  were  all  inhospitably  inclined. 

There  were  eight  inches  of  snow  by  this  time,  the  footing 
getting  more  difficult  every  hour;  and  I  resolved  to  apply 
at  every  house  till  some  one  took  me  in. 

The  next  human  habitation,  however,  was  fully  half  a 
mile  farther  on.  It  stood  back  from  the  road,  and  I  could 
see  neither  tracks  about  it,  nor  light  within ;  but  I  plodded 
to  the  door  and  knocked,  There  was  no  response,  but  I 
heard  a  cat  mewing  dolefully  inside.  It  was  a  small,  low 
house,  with  a  shed  and  a  little  stable  adjoining.  I  knocked 
again  and  yet  again,  without  result ;  but  still  the  cat  mewed 
on,  piteously.  Finally  I  tried  the  door.  It  stuck  at  the  top 
but  was  not  locked.  I  pushed  it  open  and  shouted,  "Hullo ! 
Anybody  at  home?" 

All  dark  and  still ;  but  T  heard  the  patter  of  the  cat's  feet. 
I  stepped  in.     It  seemed  not  very  cold  inside,  but  the  air 

72 


WH^N    THE)    SI:I.?-SE:nDE:r    walked    home 

was  dank  and  had  an  odor  of  household  laxity,  or  senility. 
I  had  a  match  and  struck  it.  The  outer  door  opened  into  a 
low  room  nearly  bare  of  furniture,  with  soiled,  green- 
figured  paper  on  the  walls.  There  was  a  fire-place  and 
ashes,  but  no  spark  of  fire.  A  little  blue  tin  match  safe 
stood  on  the  mantel  shelf,  also  an  iron  candle-stick  with  an 
mch  or  two  of  tallow  candle.  In  the  match  safe  were  four 
or  five  matches  and  stubs  of  matches.  When  I  had  lighted 
the  candle,  the  cat  came  and  rubbed  against  my  legs. 

There  were  three  doors  opening  out  of  the  front  room, 
one  to  the  chamber  stairs  and  one  into  a  little  kitchen  in  the 
rear.  The  third  I  could  not  open;  it  appeared  to  be  stuck 
fast  in  its  casement,  or  else  buttoned  or  propped  on  the 
other  side.  I  knocked  at  it  and  called  out  again,  then  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  house  was  one  from  which  the 
inmates  had  recently  moved  and  taken  most  of  the  furni- 
ture. The  appearance  of  the  kitchen  also  confirmed  this- 
surmise.  It  contained  little  save  a  rusted,  much  cracked 
cooking  stove,  choked  with  ashes.  In  one  corner  stood  an 
empty  flour  barrel,  having  a  large,  white  cloth  spread  over 
the  top  of  it  and  a  gummy,  warped  old  cake-board  on  top 
of  that.  In  the  shed  leading  to  the  stable  were  chips,  litter 
and  a  few  sticks  of  wood. 

After  several  failures,  I  kindled  a  fire  in  the  stove  and 
warmed  myself  a  little;  for  my  feet  were  wet  and  it  was 
chilling,  bleak  weather.  Snow  drove  against  the  windows ; 
and  altogether  the  night  was  so  bad  that  I  determined  to 
remain  there  till  morning,  if  not  ordered  away  by  the  pro- 
prietor. But  hunger  was  nearly  as  imperative  with  me  as 
cold,  and  after  getting  the  old  stove  warmed  up,  I  searched 
the  premises  again  for  food  stuff,  going  down  cellar — where 
there  was  not  so  much  as  a  frozen  potato — also  to  the  shed 
and  stable,  and  up  stairs  to  the  low  open  chamber.     The 

73 


TAI,ES    OF   BOWDOIN 

only  edible  that  could  be  discovered  anywhere  was  a  little 
husk  trace  with  five  small  dry  ears  of  sweet  corn,  hung  on 
a  nail  in  a  rafter  of  the  chamber  roof.  Thus  it  had  escaped 
the  mice,  though  the  small  rodents  appeared  to  have  been 
making  frantic  efforts  to  reach  it. 

Appropriating  the  corn  trace,  I  went  back  to  the  kitchen 
and  began  parching  the  kernels  for  my  supper;  and  I  left 
the  poor  cat — a  little,  lean  Maltese  tabby,  with  eyes  the 
largest  part  of  her — shut  up  in  the  chamber,  to  look  for  the 
mice.  The  cat  had  been  tagging  my  every  step,  getting 
under  foot,  ever  after  I  had  entered  the  house. 

Dried  sweet-corn  kernels,  when  toasted,  swell  up  to  full 
size  and  are  not  very  difficult  of  mastication.  My  hunger 
prompted  me  to  roast  and  eat  every  kernel  of  the  five  ears ; 
and  afterwards  I  thawed  a  handful  of  snow  in  a  tin  basin 
by  way  of  a  solvent.  Altogether  it  was  as  frug^al  a  meal  as 
even  a  self-sender  has  ever  made,  I  fancy. 

Fatigue,  after  my  long,  hard  day,  exposed  to  the  cold 
wind  and  snow,  soon  asserted  itself.  There  was  one  old 
basket-bottomed  chair  in  the  front  room.  Placing  this  in 
the  warm.est  corner,  I  filled  the  stove  with  the  last  of  the 
wood,  then  took  off  my  damp  boots,  opened  the  old  oven 
door  and  thrust  in  my  feet.  Afterwards,  drawing  my  over- 
coat about  me,  I  leaned  back  with  my  head  agfainst  the  wall, 
to  take  things  easy  till  morning. 

Very  soon  I  was  asleep,  but  voices  which  sounded  like 
those  of  boys  or  youngsters,  waked  me  not  long:  after ;  I  also 
heard  sleigh  bells.  A  sleigh  in  passing  appeared  to  have 
stopped  near  the  house ;  I  heard  the  occuoants  talking  low 
and  snickering.  Suddenly  four  or  five  tremendous  blows, 
as  if  from  an  ax  or  club,  were  struck  on  the  clapboards  of 
the  house  near  the  door,  and  a  voice  shouted,  "Wake  up, 
Granny !  Wake  up !" 

74 


WHKN-    the:    SICLF-SENDER    WALKED    HOME 

For  the  moment  I  imagined  that  the  rogues  had  peeped  in 
at  the  uncurtained  back  window  of  the  kitchen  and  by  the 
faint  gleam  from  the  stove  had  taken  me  for  an  old  grand- 
sir,  sitting  there  with  my  feet  in  the  oven.  R-esently  sev- 
eral missiles,  stones  it  is  likely,  from  the  stone-wall  near  the 
road,  were  thrown  on  the  roof  and  rolled  off  with  a  great 
clatter ;  and  1  could  still  hear  the  scamps  sniggering. 

By  way  of  a  counter  demonstration,  I  caught  up  the  big 
white  cloth  from  the  flour  barrel,  and  wrapping  it  around 
myself,  head  and  ears,  stalked  to  the  outer  door  which  I 
threw  wide  open,  and  uttered  a  horrible  groan !  What  with 
the  snow  on  the  ground  and  a  moon  under  the  storm  clouds, 
there  was  sufficient  light  to  render  objects  dimly  visible. 
Two  of  the  rogues  were  standing  in  the  yard  near  the  wall ; 
and  I  think  that  they  actually  took  me  for  something  spook- 
ish.  One  of  them  uttered  an  odd  sort  of  exclamation. 
They  beat  a  retreat  to  their  sleigh  and  drove  off. 

It  was  still  snowing  and  so  cold  that  I  made  haste  back  to 
my  warm  stove  oven  and  chair.  I  was  apprehensive  lest 
the  young  roisterers  might  raise  a  party  and  return,  bent  on 
investigating  the  supernatural.  My  dread  of  that,  however, 
did  not  prevent  me  from  soon  falling  asleep  again,  my  head 
propped  in  the  angle  of  the  wall,  on  the  chair  back,  and  my 
feet  in  the  oven  as  before. 

I  waked  several  times,  I  remember,  but  my  final  nap  must 
have  been  a  long  one.  There  was  broad  davlip"ht  when  I 
roused  last.  Indeed,  it  was  much  later  than  I  supposed, 
being  nine  or  ten  o'clock  I  am  sure.  The  skv  was  still 
clouded ;  but  the  storm  had  ceased.  The  stove  and  kitchen 
were  cold  as  a  tomb.  I  pulled  myself  together,  washed  my 
face  in  snow  at  the  front  door,  tidied  up  and  made  ready  to 
sally  forth  from  this  harbor  of  refuge.  But  I  was  gaunt 
from  hunger  and  made  yet  another  search  for  something 

75 


TAI^KS    OF   BOWDOIN 

with  which  to  stay  the  sense  of  inner  emptiness.  I  found  a 
squash  in  the  stable  and  had  thoughts  of  attempting  to  bake 
it  in  the  stove,  having  first  cut  it  into  sHces. 

While  canVassing  this  expedient,  however,  T  heard  a  noise 
in  the  front  room  and  hastily  looking  in,  saw  the  door — the 
one  I  had  found  fastened — shaking,  as  if  some  one  were 
removing  a  bar  or  a  prop  on  the  other  side.  Even  while  I 
stared,  it  opened  and  there  issued  forth  a  very  tall  and  wild- 
looking  old  female  in  a  long  yellow  bed-gown ;  and  it  is  no 
exaggeration  to  say,  that  the  skin  of  her  face  and  hands  was 
quite  as  yellow  as  the  flannel  of  the  gown !  But  her  hair 
was  as  white  as  an  Albino's  and  fullv  as  voluminous. 
Indeed,  there  was  a  most  uncamiy  quantity  of  it.  It 
frowsed  out  and  hung  down  her  shoulders  and  in  front 
over  her  arms,  quite  to  her  waist.  She  had  an  old  tin 
teapot  in  her  hand  and  came  directly  toward  the  kitchen 
door  where  I  stood,  rooted  and  dumb  with  wonder  as  to 
how  this  could  be! 

What  was  stranger,  I  saw  that  she  did  not  seem  to  see 
me,  though  apparently  looking  straight  at  me.  Her  eyes 
appeared  to  have  a  mottled  gray  crust  on  them,  which  I 
now  presume  to  have  been  cataracts.  On  she  came  and  I 
backed  back  into  the  kitchen,  then  spoke.  **Is  this  your 
house,  marm?"  I  exclaimed,  not  knowing  what  else  to  say. 
But  she  paid  no  heed  and  came  on,  I  backing  away  till  I 
was  directly  between  her  and  the  little  window.  Then  she 
stopped  short,  having  caught  sight  of  something  against  the 
light.  Turning  her  head  and  strange  white  hair  down  and 
to  one  side,  she  peeped  and  peered  at  me,  like  a  hen  in  the 
dark,  out  of  the  corners  of  her  nearly  sightless  eyes. 

"I  see  ye!"  she  then  cackled  out.  "I  kin  see  ye  there. 
Who  be  ye?  Be  ye  Sallv  Dennett's  man,  or  be  ye  Bijah 
Libbey?"' 

76 


WHEN    THE    SELE-SENDER    WALKED    HOME 

"No,  marm,  Vm  a  stranger,"  I  said.  "I  thought  this 
house  was  empty.     I  came  in  on  account  of  the  storm." 

"Whart?"  she  bleated.     "Be  ye  Bijah?" 

I  repeated  that  I  was  a  stranger. 

"What-a-art  ?"  she  cried,  taking  a  step  nearer  me. 

It  was  plain  now  that  she  was  deaf  also,  as  well  as  blind — 
deaf  as  a  post. 

"Whart?  Whart  be  ye  a-sayin'?"  she  cried  again,  and 
put  out  one  of  those  awful  skinny,  yellow  hands  to  feel  me 
over. 

Ah  well,  I  was  young  then  and  had  had  no  breakfast  and 
not  much  supper;  partly  for  that  reason,  perhaps,  my 
stomach  gave  a  sudden  turn.  Snatching  up  my  valise,  I 
bolted  out  of  that  house,  gained  the  highwav  and  deep  as 
the  snow  was,  ran  for  as  much  as  half  a  mile — till  I  felt 
better. 

It  was  an  old  beldame  granny  who  lived  there  alone. 
She  had  been  abed  in  that  room  all  night,  while  I  was 
ranging  over  her  house  and  parching  her  trace  of  sweet 
corn !  The  poor,  deaf,  blind  old  creature  had  heard  nothing 
of  my  invasion.  It  was  too  scandalous  even  for  a  Sopho- 
more ;  and  I  never  dared  tell  any  of  the  fellows  about  it. 

My  only  consolation  and  hold  on  self-respect,  lay  in  the 
thought  that  I  had  discomfited  the  louts  who  had  stopped 
there  at  midnight  to  torment  her ;  but  it  is  doubtful  if  she 
heard  even  the  stones  on  the  roof. 

Plodding  on  drearily  enough  for  an  hour  or  more,  my 
luck  took  a  turn  for  the  better.  A  woman  driving  a  white 
horse  in  a  pung,  set  full  of  stone  pots,  overtook  me ;  a  large, 
fleshy,  comfortable-looking,  middle-aged  woman  with  three 
big  brown  hair  moles  on  her  lip  and  cheek.  I  suppose  I 
cast  a  longing  look  at  the  vacant  seat  and  warm  buffalo 

77 


TALKS    O^    BOWDOIN 

robe;  for  she  pulled  up  after  passing,  looked  around  and 
presently  asked  me  if  I  would  like  to  ride. 

I  did  not  keep  her  waiting  while  I  considered  whether  I 
had  another  engagement,  for  my  feet  were  already  wet 
again. 

Remembering  my  ill  success  with  the  Shaker  Elder,  I 
determined  to  go  easy  in  conversation  and  did  not  talk 
much.  Besides  I  was  cold  and  faint.  But  conversation 
did  not  flag;  this  woman  was  herself  a  talker;  and  before 
we  had  gone  a  mile  I  had  learned  that  she  had  been  to  the 
•Village"  that  morning;  that  she  had  sold  a  hundred  and 
twenty  pounds  of  butter;  that  butter  was  twenty-six  cents 
a  pound  and  eggs  twenty  cents  a  dozen ;  and  that  her  hens 
were  laying  well;  also  that  she  had  told  "George,"  her 
husband,  that  he  was  welcome  to  all  the  farm  crops  came 
to,  if  she  could  have  the  butter  and  eggs. 

But  mox  angitis  recreatus.  Having  gained  breath  and 
Avarmth  under  her  comforting  buffalo  skin.  I  took  thought 
and  putting  my  best  foot  forward,  turned  the  conversation 
on  sewing  machines — not  then  so  hackneyed  a  theme  for  an 
agent's  eloquence  as  now. 

Unsuspecting  woman !  She  little  imagined  how  des- 
perate a  man  she  had  been  warming  back  to  hope  and  guile 
under  that  cozy  robe.  In  twenty  minutes  I  had  sold  her 
my  sample  machine,  for  seventeen  dollars,  delivered  the 
goods  and  got  my  money ! 

By  good  luck,  too,  her  homeward  route  took  me  within  a 
mile  of  the  Empire  Road  railway  station,  which  I  reached  in 
time  to  take  the  afternoon  train  home. 

Once  more  on  my  native  heath,  I  settled  to  pedagogy  for 
ten  weeks,  and  meantime  sold  eight  sewing  machines.  So 
that  in  March  I  was  able  to  rejoin  my  class,  in  funds  again 
for  the  rest  of  the  year. 

78 


TOLD  AGAIN 

Arlo  Bates,  '76 


TOLD  AGAIN 

EVERY  alumnus  knows  the  old  traditional  anecdotes  of 
Bowdoin,  but  who  was  ever  tired  of  hearing  them 
repeated  ?  Told  over  by  one  class  after  another  and  by  one 
generation  to  the  next,  they  keep  a  perennial  interest  by 
being  part  of  the  magic  time  of  college  life;  and  so  I  may 
be  forgiven  for  reporting  a  talk  in  which  all  the  stories  were 
confessedly  old. 

The  room  was  what  Percy,  who  was  accustomed  to  jeer 
at  his  friend's  fondness  for  luxury,  called  "a  Kensington- 
stitch  bower."  Philip  Vaughn  had  innumerable  lady 
friends,  whose  lives,  judging  from  their  fruits,  must  be 
devoted  chiefly  to  embroidering  tidies,  tobacco-pouches, 
hangings  and  rugs  for  the  adornment  of  the  bachelor's 
bower;  until  floor  and  wall  bloomed  out  in  wildly  arranged 
cat-o'-nine-tails,  pre-Raphaelite  sun-flowers,  and  innumer- 
able other  aesthetic  devices,  constructed  upon  the  conven- 
tional plan  of  making  them  as  impossible  as  was  within  the 
limits  of  female  ingenuity  to  compass. 

Tonight  Percy  and  Phil  were  seated  in  those  strikingly 
sprawly  attitudes  dear  to  the  masculine  soul,  puffing  at 
fragrant  pipes,  and  staring  at  the  open  fire,  whose  glow 
brought  out  with  great  effect  the  glories  of  the  Kensington- 
stitch  tokens.  The  talk  somehow  turned  upon  old  times  at 
Bowdoin,  drifting  on  into  anecdote  and  reminiscence,  as 
such  chats  are  very  apt  to  do. 
^  8i 


TAI^ES    OF    BOWDOIN 

"You  remember,*'  Percy  asked,  ''the  time  Prof.  W.  took 
the  Senior  class  over  into  the  Topsham  woods  botanizing, 
and  the  boys  hired  a  hand-organ  man  to  follow  ?  He  struck 
up  Mulligan  Guards  just  as  the  Professor  had  begun  a 
learned  discussion  on  a  rare  something  or  other." 

"How  the  Prof,  laughed,"  retorted  Phil.  "But  I  think 
the  funniest  time  was  the  cuspidors.  You  were  out  then, 
weren't  you  ?  Prof.  C.  got  vexed  at  some  of  the  boys'  spit- 
ting, and  remarked  that  if  it  was  necessary  for  them  to 
expectorate,  he  desired  that  they  would  bring  cuspidors  with 
them;  and  I'll  be  hanged  if  every  man  Jack  didn't  get  a 
spittoon  and  carry  it  into  recitation  next  morning!  The 
way  we  banged  them  about  those  tiered  seats  in  Adams  Hall 
was  a  caution  to  peaceful  citizens!" 

"What  jolly  old  days  those  were,"  Percy  sighed  regret- 
fully. "Do  you  remember  how  often  old  Senex  used  to 
say,  'I'm  having  the  best  time  of  my  life,  but  I  shall  never 
have  to  regret  that  I  didn't  know  it  as  I  went  along.'  That 
was  a  bit  of  philosophy  I  always  admired." 

"What  a  separate  world  a  college  is,"  Phil  said.  "It 
wouldn't  seem  to  me  very  funny  anywhere  else  to  hang  an 
old  circular  saw  out  of  my  window  and  pound  it  with  a  junk 
bottle,  but  as  part  of  my  college  life  I  laugh  whenever  I 
think  of  it.  There  is  a  different  way  of  looking  at  every- 
thing inside  the  college  campus,  and  I  always  have  a  secret 
sympathy  for  student  tricks,  no  matter  how  much  it  is 
proper  to  disapprove  of  them  from  an  outside  standpoint." 

"Dr.  C.  told  me  a  story  the  other  day,"  Percy  observed, 
trimming  his  pipe,  "that  pleased  me  a  good  deal.  Dr.  C. 
roomed  on  the  southwest  corner  of  Maine  Hall,  and  had  a 
very  sunny  place.  Gray,  who  was  just  across  the  entry, 
came  in  one  day  with  a  lot  of  pears  not  quite  ripe,  and  asked 
to  leave  them  in  C.'s  windows  to  ripen.     A  few  mornings 

82 


TOLD    AGAIN 

after,  Professor  Packard  called  on  C.  to  ask  something- 
about  a  library  book.  After  he  had  done  his  errand  the  old 
gentleman  walked  up  to  the  window  and  began  to  examine 
the  fruit.  'Very  fine  pears,'  he  said,  *it  is  a  variety  rare 
about  here,  too.'  'They  look  first  rate,'  Doc.  answered, 
'though  I've  not  tasted  them  yet.'  'You'll  find  them  very 
good,  I  assure  you,'  Father  Packard  observed  blandly,  as 
he  moved  toward  the  door.  'Very  good  indeed.  I  took 
great  pains  with  that  graft!  Good  day.'  And  poor  C. 
never  had  a  chance  to  explain  that  he  wasn't  the  man  who 
purloined  them !" 

"Pretty  good!"  laughed  Phil.  "It  wouldn't  have  made 
any  difference,  though,  if  he  had  denied  comnlicity,  I  sup- 
pose. Circumstantial  evidence  is  too  much  for  most  any 
of  us.  There  is  a  fine  story  of  Prex.  Woods,  that  a  clergy- 
man in  Maine  told  me.  You  know  the  President's  sym- 
pathies were  notoriously  with  the  South  in  the  war,  and  the 
boys  were  not  slow  to  comment  on  it.  One  morning  when 
Prex.  came  in  to  prayers  he  was  astonished — or  at  least  I 
fancy  he  must  have  been — to  find  every  man  Jack  of  the 
fellows  in  his  place,  and  all  as  quiet  as  stone  griffins.  He 
took  his  chair  as  usual,  and  he  must  have  felt  a  cold  chill 
run  down  his  back  from  the  way  in  which  everybody  looked 
at  him." 

"He'd  feel  that,"  interrupted  Percy,  "from  the  Chapel.  It 
is  always  colder  than  the  tombs." 

"He  was  no  sooner  seated,"  resumed  the  other,  "than  his 
eye  caught  a  great  sign  stretched  across  the  front  of  the 
organ-loft  on  the  opposite  end  of  the  Chapel,  with  the  words 
'Pray  for  the  country^  in  letters  a  yard  high.  He  read 
the  Scripture  as  usual,  and  then  started  in  on  the  prayer 
amid  an  awful  stillness  such  as  never  was  experienced  at 
college  prayers  before  or  since.     He  got  along  to  the  phrases 


TAI^ES    OF    BOWDOIN 

with  which  he  was  accustomed  to  close,  and  not  a  word 
about  the  country.  Then  there  was  a  sort  of  dull  murmur 
among  the  boys.  Nobody  made  any  noise  in  particular,  you 
know,  but  there  was  a  kind  of  stir.  The  president  didn't 
dare  hold  out  any  longer,  for  the  pressure  of  that  body  of 
boys,  with  all  the  moral  sentiment  of  the  country  behind 
them,  was  too  tremendous  for  even  his  will ;  he  gave  in  and 
prayed  for  the  country  with  the  utmost  fervor!" 

"He  must  have  been  sincere!"  Percy  commented. 
"There's  a  Bowdoin  hazing  story  which  always  pleased  me 
immensely.  One  day  a  knot  of  fellows  in  the  room  of  X., 
a  gallant  Sophomore,  were  discussing  hazingf.  *I  tell  you,' 
X.  said,  with  emphasis,  'the  Freshies  like  the  fun  as  well 
as  we  do.  It's  part  of  college  life.  Why,  I'd  be  ducked 
myself  for  ten  cents !'  'Here's  your  ten  cents,'  returned  E., 
a  brawny  Junior— you  must  have  seen  him.  Phil,  he  was  in 
'(iy — he  was  famous  for  his  will  and  his  muscle.  'Now  I 
propose  to  duck  you !'  Remonstrance  was  vain,  and  as  E. 
was  big  enough  to  annihilate  X.  had  he  chosen,  there  was 
nothing  for  the  unhappy  Soph,  but  to  submit,  obtaining 
only  the  privilege  of  being  allowed  to  don  old  clothes. 
Thus  equipped,  X.  took  his  seat  outside  his  room  door, 
surrounded  by  a  circle  of  grinning  friends,  and  E.  procured 
a  pail  of  water.  Do  you  know,  instead  of  making  one 
grand  dash  of  the  ducking,  and  letting  X.  off  with  that, 
that  merciless  E.,  who  had  certain  old  scores  to  settle,  pro- 
ceeded to  dribble  the  cold  water  over  his  victim  by  the 
dipperful.  Now  he  would  playfully  trickle  a  small  stream 
down  the  sufferer's  back,  then  dash  a  pint  full  in  his  face; 
again  a  little  cascade  would  pour  UPon  the  Sophomore's 
head,  or  an  icy  streamlet  meander  down  his  manly  bosom. 
E.  pitilessly  held  X.  to  his  agreement,  and.  as, he  threw  the 
last  drop  of  water  into  his  eves,  poor  X..  drenched  and 

84' 


TOLD    AGAIN 

redrenched,  sprang  away  with  a  string  of  oaths  so  hot  they 
might  have  dried  him ;  but  it  was  never  noticed  that  he  was 
anxious  to  discuss  hazing  again.  By  George!  I'd  have 
liked  to  see  the  performance." 

"These  things  are  no  end  funny,"  Phil  said,  poking  the 
fire.  "I  don't  know  whether  they  are  so  to  folks  outside 
the  ring,  but  the  whole  college  feeling  comes  up  to  me  with 
them.  Don't  you  remember  the  day  we  '76  boys  were 
reciting  in  International  Law  to  Prof.  Caziarc,  and  old  H. 
distinguished  himself  so?  Unluckily,  this  wasn't  one  of  the 
days  when  H.  was  prepared,  and,  as  he  neglected  to  read 
ahead  in  the  class,  his  answers  were  of  the  wildest.  'How 
long,'  asked  the  Professor,  *does  a  ship  remain  liable  to 
seizure  after  violating  a  blockade?'  H.  gazed  at  the  ceiling, 
rubbing  his  chin  and  changing  legs  in  his  inimitable  way, 
but  no  happy  evasion  occurred  to  him.  A  fellow  behind 
him  was  prompting  in  frantic  whispers,  and  at  length  suc- 
ceeded in  attracting  H.'s  attention.  Old  H.  was  so  intent 
on  the  ceiling,  though,  that  to  do  this  the  prompter  had  to 
speak  so  loudly  as  to  be  heard  over  the  whole  room.  Of 
course  everybody  laughed  in  concert,  but  no  line  softened 
in  the  grave  countenance  of  H.  Taking  in  the  situation  in  a 
twipkling,  he  drawled  out,  with  perfect  composure:  *I  am 
told  that  it  is  six  months !'     How  the  boys  applauded !" 

"There's  a  good  recitation  story  they  tell  of  Prof.  Chad- 
bourn,"  Percy  said,  taking  up  the  ball  in  his  turn,  "though 
the  truth  I  don't  vouch  for.  They  say  that  he  began  a 
recitation  in  Natural  History  by  asking  the  first  man  in  the 
class  if  he'd  ever  seen  a  porpoise.  'No,  sir,'  was  the 
answer,  as  prompt  as  you  please.  'The  next,'  says  the  Prof., 
and  the  next  said  '1^0,'  too.  And  so  they  went  down  the 
class,  Chadbourn  of  course  forgetting  all  about  what  the 
question  was,  before  he  got  half  through  the  row.     'Very 

85 


TALES    OF    BOWDOIN 

well,  gentlemen/  he  remarked  in  his  most  magisterial  man- 
ner, as  the  last  man  added  his  negative  to  the  rest,  'you 
may  take  this  lesson  again  tomorrow  and  I  hope  to  find  you 
better  prepared!'  Another  story  of  him  is  that  he  asked 
once  if  anybody  in  the  class  had  ever  seen  a  frog  in  the 
water.  The  boys  all  said  no  till  it  came  to  G..  who  remarked 
that  he  had  seen  a  frog  in  the  water.  'Good.'  the  Prof,  said, 
*I  am  glad  there  is  one  man  here  who  is  an  observer.  Now 
will  you  tell  us,  Mr.  G.,  under  what  circumstances  you  saw 
the  frog  in  the  water  and  what  he  was  doing.'  'Oh,' 
answered  G.  brightly,  'I  put  him  in,  and  he  was  trying  to 
get  out !' " 

"Then  there  was  S.,  in  '75,"  went  on  Vaughn.  "Prof. 
Carmichael  was  talking  of  the  difficulty  of  determining  the 
direction  from  which  a  sound  comes.  'For  instance,'  he 
said  to  S.,  who  was  reciting,  'if  you  are  in  the  depot  and 
hear  a  whistle  you  cannot  tell  whether  it  is  the  Bath  train 
coming  from  one  direction  or  the  Lewiston  train  from 
the  other.'  'Oh,  yes,  I  can,'  S.  answered.  'I  can  always  tell 
the  direction  by  the  sound,  for  the  Lewiston  train  whistles 
twice !'  And  you  remember  P.'s  answering  the  question  as 
to  the  kind  of  weather  in  which  we  have  thunder-showers, 
by  saying,  'In  stormy  weather'?" 

"Some  of  the  Bowdoin  boys  did  a  couple  of  droll  things 
the  year  after  we  graduated,"  Phil  said.  "The  eternal  war 
between  Fresh,  and  Soph,  was  raging  with  great  violence, 
and  there  was  no  end  of  sharp-shooting  on  both  sides.  I 
fancy  the  Freshies  v/ere  the  smarter  from  the  two  stories  I 
heard.  One  night  they  were  laying  out  for  a  'peanut- 
drunk' — is  there  anything  funnier  in  college  nomenclature 
than  calling  a  gorge  on  that  arid  fruit  a  'drunk'  ? — and  they 
were  told  that  the  Sophs,  had  found  it  out  and  meant  to 
stop  it.     They  went  on  with  their  plan,  though,  and  to  the 

86 


TOLD    AGAIN 

usual  bushel  or  so  of  peanuts  they  added  a  can  of  cider. 
Of  course  when  their  enemies  interrupted  the  innocent  fes- 
tivities, they  bore  away  peanuts  and  cider,  upon  which  they 
feasted  in  high  glee.  Fancy  the  feelings  of  those  wicked 
and  wretched  Sophs,  when,  on  draining  the  can  of  its  last 
glass  of  cider,  five  drowned  mice  dropped  into  the  glass!" 

"By  Jove!  That  was  tremendous!"  cried  Percy.  "I 
wonder  a  Freshman  was  left  alive  to  tell  the  tale!" 

"I  fancy  they  weren't  very  cheeky  for  a  day  or  two," 
returned  the  other.  "But  their  second  trick  was  worse  yet. 
The  Sophs,  became  possessed  of  a  pair  of  plump  chickens." 

"  'Became  possessed'  is  a  good  phrase,"  interrupted 
Percy.  "I've  become  possessed  of  chickens  on  the  Harps- 
well  road  myself!     'Convey,'  the  wise  call  it.     Go  ahead." 

"I  knew  I  was  touching  you  in  a  tender  spot,"  continued 
the  narrator.  "Having  the  chickens,  they  took  them  down 
town  to  that  disreputable  Tim  Ponson,  who  used  to  cook 
your  fowls  for  you,  to  have  them  roasted.  Certain  choice 
spirits — both  on  two  legs  and  in  black  bottles — were  brought 
together  for  the  feast,  which  Tim  had  promised  should  be 
ready  by  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening.  But  a  few  audacious 
Freshmen,  Billy  M.  and  Tom  Winter  among  them,  in  some 
unexplained  way  got  hold  of  a  knowledg-e  of  the  Sopho- 
moric  plans,  and  at  half-past  eight  presented  themselves  at 
Ponson's  door.  'Hallo,  Tim,'  says  Winter  briskly,  'are 
those  chickens  ready?'  Tim  looked  a  little  astonished,  but 
Billy  broke  in  and  explained  that  S.,  who  had  delivered  the 
birds  to  the  cook,  had  sent  after  them.  'Hurry  up,'  Winter 
went  on.  'The  fellers  have  got  dreadful  tired  of  waiting 
now.*  So  old  Tim  bestowed  the  chickens,  smoking  hot,  in 
a  basket.  'Will  yer  take  the  plates  and  the  taters,  too?'  he 
asked.  But  having  secured  the  chickens  the  boys  were  not 
inclined  to  wait,  so  they  told  him  to  follow  with  the  other 

87 


TALES   OF   BOWDOIN 

things,  and  off  they  scud  with  their  booty.  Saucy  knaves ! 
Perhaps  the  Freshmen  did  not  have  a  howl  over  those  birds ! 
And  perhaps  the  Sophs  were  pleased  at  the  trick!  But 
wasn't  it  clever?" 

"Capital !  I  only  know  one  thing  which  would  have  been 
better,  and  that  was  the  thing  some  of  the  '75  boys  didn't  do 
to  Prof,  Z.  You  know  what  a  little,  wizened,  dried-up 
man  he  was,  and  how  cordially  everybody  disliked  him. 
The  one  year  he  v/as  at  Bowdoin  he  made  more  enemies 
than  he  could  unmake  in  a  lifetime.  Well.  X.  and  Y.,  '75 
boys,  got  mto  the  Church  on  the  Hill  one  Saturday  night, 
when  Prof.  Z.  was  to  preach  on  Sunday.  They  planned  to 
cut  a  trap-door  behind  the  pulpit,  with  a  spring  to  be  worked 
by  a  cord  going  under  the  carpet  to  the  students'  seats. 
They  meant  to  pull  the  door  out  from  under  him  about  the 
time  he  got  started  in  the  long  prayer,  and  let  him  down  out 
of  sight !  Unfortunately,  the  sexton  came  in,  and  they  had 
to  give  the  thing  up !" 

"Unfortunately!  you  say?"  Phil  said,  laughing.  "That 
shows  where  your  sympathies  are!" 

"They  are  always  v/ith  the  boys  in  private,"  Percy 
retorted.  "In  public  I  have  to  disapprove  of  anything  of 
this  sort  as  improper;  indeed,  as  extremely  improper!" 

The  two  friends  laughed,  and  smoked  for  a  few  minutes 
in  genial  silence.  Then  Percy  went  on  again,  for  when  once 
college  days  are  recalled  there  is  not  soon  an  end  to  the 
flood  of  reminiscence. 

"I  met  Dr.  B.  the  other  day,"  he  said,  "and  he  told  me 
some  droll  stories  about  Professor  Cleveland.  I  dare  say 
they  are  not  more  than  half  true,  but  even  that  is  a  very 
good  portion  of  verity  for  this  wicked  world.  Professor 
Cleveland,  it  seems,  was  excessively  afraid  of  lightning. 


TOLD    AGAIN 

His  researches  into  natural  phenomena  g-ave  him  such  an 
impression  of  the  immense  power  of  the  electric  force  as 
almost  to  overcome  his  courage.  The  story  goes  that  he 
had  in  his  cellar  an  insulated  stool,  upon  which  he  was 
accustomed  to  sit  cross-legged  like  a  Turk  during  every 
thunder-storm.  Once  a  strong-minded  female  who  was  vis- 
iting his  house  felt  called  upon  to  remonstrate  with  him 
upon  his  fears.  So  she  made  her  way  down  cellar,  and 
began  to  upbraid  him  for  his  timidity.  He  made  no  reply, 
only  he  drew  his  legs  a  little  more  closely  under  him  as  a 
terrific  peal  of  thunder  shook  the  house,  and  his  visitor 
became  more  and  more  voluble.  'I'm  ashamed  of  you,*  she 
snapped  out  at  last,  'any  fool  knows  enough  not  to  be  scared 
by  a  thunder-shower !'  'Yes,'  the  old  gentleman  returned, 
drily,  'there  are  only  a  few  of  us  who  know  enough  to  be 
frightened.'  " 

"A  great  moral  truth,"  Phil  commented.  "Isn't  there 
some  sort  of  a  yarn  about  Professor  Cleveland  and  an  elec- 
tric battery?" 

"Yes;  they  say  he  was  showing  his  bie  battery  to  the 
class,  one  day,  when  he  remarked :  'Gentlemen,  quiet  as  this 
instrument  seems,  there  is  energy  enough  stored  up  here  to 
cause  the  instant  death  of  a  man.  One  touch  of  the  finger 
to  that  knob  would  instantly  kill  an  able-bodied  man.' 
Then,  turning  to  his  assistant,  the  Professor  beamed  benevo- 
lently upon  him  through  his  spectacles,  absent-mindedly  and 
cheerfully  saying,  'Mr.  Dunning,  touch  the  knob.' " 

"The  best  story  of  Cleveland  I  ever  heard,"  Phil  said,, 
"was  of  a  rebuke  he  gave  to  a  noisy  class.  It  was  about  the 
time  of  Brooks'  villainous  assault  upon  Charles  Sumner  in 
the  Senate  Chamber,  and  of  course  the  country  was  full  of 
talk  about  that  scandal.     Professor  Cleveland  was  late  to 

89 


TAI^SS    OF    BOVVDOIN 

lecture  one  day,  and  as  the  class  got  into  a  very  riotous  state 
while  waiting  for  him,  he  had  some  ado  to  quell  it  when  he 
came  in.  He  was  a  good  deal  nettled  and  administered  a 
most  scathing  rebuke,  ending  with  the  words,  delivered  in 
so  impressive  a  manner  that  more  than  one  of  his  hearers 
speak  of  it  to  this  day:  'Gentlemen,  in  future  let  such 
brawls  be  confined  to  Congress,  and  do  not  disgrace  with 
them  these  halls  consecrated  to  science  and  culture.'  " 

''No  doubt!"  his  friend  laughed.  "But  there's  another 
story  of  Professor  Cleveland  that  comes  to  my  mind  in  this 
connection,  chiefly  because  no  earthly,  connection  exists 
between  the  two.  It  seems  that  he  went  to  church  but  once 
on  Sunday,  it  being  vaguely  suspected  that  the  remainder 
of  his  day  was  spent  in  unholy  toil  in  his  laboratory.  A 
committee  of  the  Faculty  was  at  last  sent  to  remonstrate 
with  the  old  gentleman,  and  in  the  most  delicate  and  politic 
way  they  laid  the  case  before  him,  dwelling  upon  the  evil 
influence  of  his  course,  the  injury  to  him  and  to  the  cause 
of  religion,  ending  with  a  declaration  that  there  could  be  no 
good  reason  why  the  Professor  should  not  attend  church. 
'Gentlemen,'  the  culprit  said,  drawing  himself  up  in  the 
haughtiest  manner,  'Professor  Cleveland  goes  to  church  but 
once  on  Sunday,  and  that  is  reason  enough.*  And  the  com- 
mittee retired  in  confusion." 

"There's  a  delightful  quality  of  self-poise  shown  in  that 
story,"  observed  Percy.  "Another  phase  of  the  feeling  was 
shown  by  our  friend  Fall.  A  military  instructor  at  Bow- 
doin  was  very  fond  of  using  military  terms,  and  the  boys 
naturally  guyed  him  for  it.  One  day  he  said  to  Fall,  who 
was  cutting  up  in  recitation,  'Fall,  you  may  go  to  your 
quarters.'  'Sir,'  answered  Fall,  saucily  but  serenely,  'I 
haven't  any  quarters  to  go  to.'  'No  quarters?'  demanded 
the   instructor,   'what   do   you   mean?'     'I'm   expecting   a 

90 


TOLD    AGAIN 

remittance  every  day,'  Fall  said  coolly,  'but  now  I  haven't 
any  quar — '  'Sir,'  interrupted  the  other,  'leave  the  section 
room  instantly !'  " 

"Impertinent  whelp !"  Phil  said,  "Jamie  Charles  was  on 
the  whole  the  coolest  specimen  we  had  in  our  class.  I  shall 
never  forget  the  malicious  impudence  with  which  he  fum- 
bled and  fussed  with  a  loose  leaf  of  his  German  book,  at  last 
dropping  it  and  then  cramming  it  into  his  pocket  with  an 
affectation  of  the  greatest  confusion,  so  that  Professor  M. 
had  no  choice  but  to  call  him  up  and  ask  for  that  transla- 
tion, only  to  find  that  he'd  been  gulled." 

"The  time  that  Professor  M.  had  his  revenge,"  Percy 
returned,  "was  when  Jamie,  with  a  big  fish  hook  and  the 
greatest  patience,  angled  for  the  Professor's  shutters  from 
the  attic  window.  It  took  him  half  the  afternoon,  and  just 
as  he  was  hauling  up  the  last  blind,  the  Professor,  who  was 
supposed  to  be  down  town,  put  his  head  out  of  the  window, 
and  mildly  but  firmly  insisted  upon  Charles  putting  the 
shutters  back;  in  which  pleasant  but  laborious  occupation 
my  young  Sophomore  spent  the  rest  of  the  afternoon,  not 
without  some  jeering  on  the  part  of  the  boys." 

"Do  you  remember,"  asked  Phil,  "the  fuss  we  had  with 
Mr.  X.,  whose  ministrations  at  the  Church  on  the  Hill  used 
to  bore  the  boys  so  ?  He  was  the  man  that  said  in  a  sermon 
that  the  temperance  crusade  had  been  so  effective  as  to  lower 
the  price  of  whiskey  several  cents  on  the  gallon." 

"I  remember  that  day,"  Percy  put  in.  "We  all  applauded 
and  got  summoned  the  next  morning  for  disturbance  in 
church." 

"The  best  joke  v/as  about  the  proposed  removal  of  the 
students  from  the  church.  The  fuss  I  spoke  of  came  from 
Brother  X.  going  to  a  ministers'  meeting  or  a  conference  or 
something  else,  and  berating  the  college  as  a  nest  of  infi- 


TAI,ES    OF   BOWDOIN 

del ity  because  he  had  not  been  appointed  Professor  of  Moral 
Science.  So  it  was  proposed  that  the  students  should  be 
taken  to  the  college  Chapel  for  service  and  the  church  left  to 
itself.  While  the  matter  was  being  discussed  in  Faculty 
meeting — or  as  the  story  goes — Professor  Z.  suggested  that 
another  of  the  Faculty,  who  is  a  clergyman,  should  first 
preach  a  farewell  sermon  to  the  people  of  the  Church  on  the 
Hill.     And  what  do  you  think  was  to  be  the  text?" 

"I  give  it  up,"  Percy  said.  *'It  is  too  near  morning  to 
guess  conundrums,  and  especially  scriptural  ones." 

"It  was  to  have  close  reference  to  their  staying  behind 
with  X.;  It  was  to  be  'Tarry  thou  here  with  the  ass  while 
I  and  the  lads  go  up  yonder  to  worship !'  " 


THE  HAZING  OF  STUMPY  BLAIR 

Fre;d  Raymond  Marsh,  '99 


THE  HAZING  OP  STUMPY    BLAIR 

<^C  TUMPY"  Blair  was  a  Freshman,  not  so  much  because 
O  it  was  his  first  year  in  college,  though  as  every  one 
will  admit,  that  was  reason  enough,  but  because  of  a  certain 
circumstantial  evidence  that  characterized  all  his  actions. 
For  instance,  he  seemed  instinctively  to  keep  his  "weather 
eye,"  as  it  were,  open  on  the  balmiest  of  Autumn  days.  He 
v*^as  constant  in  his  attendance  at  gymnasium  in  all  his  spare 
hours,  and  had  been  heard  to  express  great  pleasure  at  the 
prospect  of  a  class  in  Indian  clubs  for  the  Freshmen  during 
the  Winter  term.  It  was  even  rumored  that  he  sat  up  till 
the  early  hours  of  morning,  burning  the  electric  fluid  that 
feebly  oozed  through  his  sixteen  candle-power  light  and 
preparing  his  Mathematics  for  the  coming  day.  Of  course 
only  Freshmen  do  all  these  things  and  it  follows  that 
"Stumpy"  Blair  was  unmistakably  a  Freshman. 

But  "Stumpy"  Blair  had  many  excellent  qualities  to  offset 
the  misfortune  of  his  class  standing.  He  was  a  good- 
hearted  fellow,  could  play  the  piano  to  perfection,  and  was 
immensely  popular  in  the  college.  He  was  also  as  large 
physically  as  he  was  inexhaustible  in  his  unruffled  good 
nature.  He  was  nearly  six  feet  tall,  broad  shouldered, 
straight  as  an  arrow,  and  that  is  why  everybody  in  Bowdoin 
called  him  "Stumpy"  Blair. 

It  is  an  unwritten  law  that  every  Freshman  owes  the 
college  a  living,  in  the  sense  of  lending  a  mild  excitement 
to  the  dull  routine  of  study  by  the  mistakes  he  naturally 

95 


TALES    OF   BOWDOIN 

makes  in  his  new  surroundings.  This  law  "Stumpy"  Blair 
persistently  and  even  arrogantly  disregarded.  He  declared 
that  he  enjoyed  nothing  better  than  tobacco  smoke  when  a 
dozen  red-eyed  upoer  classmen  left  his  room  after  a  social 
call  one  evening.  He  was  even  caught  one  night  before 
retiring  in  the  very  act  of  taking  his  hair  brushes  from 
between  the  sheets  of  his  bed,  where  they  had  been  surrep- 
titiously placed  by  unknown  persons.  Any  well-brought-up 
Freshman  would  have  crept  to  bed  and  set  up  a  yell  of 
astonishment  as  the  stiff  bristles  raked  his  shins,  just  for  the 
benefit  of  those  who  might  have  been  listening  near.  But 
"Stumpy"  Blair  was  not  that  kind.  He  was  by  far  too 
precocious.  He  could  not  understand  that  there  is  an 
infancy  in  college  life  as  well  as  in  real  life,  as  well  as 
in  business  life.  He  desired  to  assume  the  dignity  and 
prerogative  of  a  Senior  while  yet  a  child.  Of  course  the 
result  was  a  curious  combination.  His  case  took  an  original 
form  and  it  demanded  original  treatment. 

There  are  some,  to  be  sure,  who  would  denounce  the  fact 
that  there  was  need  of  any  treatment  at  all.  unless  it  should 
be  with  others  outside  the  Freshman  class.  However  that 
may  be,  those  who  have  been  in  college  themselves,  or  better 
still  have  taught  in  the  district  schools,  cannot  class  pure 
mischief  as  a  missing  link  in  the  human  character.  When 
a  number  of  healthy  animals  are  put  together  there  are  sure 
to  be  pranks  and  mischief,  generally  if  not  always  untainted 
by  any  malice  in  the  colleges  of  the  present  time.  This, 
however,  is  not  a  defence  of  what  happened;  it  is  merely 
the  reason  why  something  had  to  be  done  in  the  case  of 
"Stumpy"  Blair. 

A  solemn  meeting  of  which  no  records  were  kept,  was 
held  by  a  number  of  upper  classmen  whose  names  are  not 
recorded  in  the  Jury's  Book  of  Illustrious  Dead  and  who 

96 


THE    HAZING   OF    STUMPY    BLAIR 

felt  on  their  shoulders  the  responsibility  of  upholding  the 
unwritten  law.  Several  days  after  this  meeting:  "Stumpy" 
Blair  felt,  rather  than  smelled,  a  powerful  odor  on  entering- 
his  room  after  his  Math,  recitation.  The  place  was  a  veri- 
table Inferno  with  the  taint  of  rotten  eggs.  In  Physics  we 
are  taught  that  ether  is  considered  to  be  an  impalpable 
and  all-pervading  jelly  through  which  the  particles  of 
ordinary  matter  move  freely.  It  was  such  a  substance  that 
"Stumpy"  Blair  seemed  to  encounter  as  he  entered  his  room, 
though  it  affected  his  sense  of  smell  and  taste  alike.  It  was 
certainly  original  treatment. 

Of  course  the  news  of  "Stumpy"  Blair's  discovery  was 
soon  known  and  he  had  no  dearth  of  sympathizers — outside  ^ 
his  door.  Various  expedients  were  suggested.  One  fellow 
was  so  cruel  as  to  suggest  that  "Stumpy"  count  his 
chickens  after  they  were  hatched.  The  common  belief, 
which  "Stumpy"  Blair  himself  held,  was  that  a  rat,  or  rather 
a  colony  of  rats,  had  died  somewhere  in  the  room,  and  hence 
the  odor.     How  to  find  the  rats  was  the  problem. 

"Stumpy"  Blair  was  determined  they  should  be  found 
and  his  friends  encouraged  him  in  his  efforts.  First  he 
made  a  careful  survey  of  the  premises  to  see  if  he  could 
locate  the  place,  but  the  odor  was  as  strone  by  the  window 
as  by  the  closet  door ;  it  was  an  "all-pervading"  odor — the 
stench  of  decay.  Resolved  to  find  the  pest,  "Stumpy"  Blair 
took  each  piece  of  furniture,  carefully  examined  it  and  car- 
ried it  out  in  the  hall.  The  room  was  bare  but  the  smell 
was  still  present.  Undaunted,  he  finally  took  down  the 
pictures  and  there,  hanging  to  the  cord  of  one,  he  found  a 
small,  uncorked  vial.  The  vial  was  about  half  full  of  an 
innocent  looking  fluid.  The  label  read:  "H^  S.  Keep 
tightly  corked,"  with  a  death's  head  underneath. 
F  97 


TALES    OF   BOWDOIN 

"Stumpy''  Blair  drew  a  sigh  of  relief  as  he  examined  it 
closely.  He  fitted  a  cork  tightly  in  the  vial,  immersed  it  in 
a  bottle  of  his  strongest  cologne  and  labelled  it  ''Freshman 
Year."  Several  days  later  President  Hyde  received  an 
anonymous  letter  with  the  polite  request  that  Chemistry  be 
placed  on  the  elective  course  for  Freshmen.  That  was  the 
end  of  the  hazing  of  **Stumpy"  Blair. 


THE  MAY  TRAINING 

Thomas  B.  Reed, '6o 


THE  MAY  TRaiNH^iC  '" 

IN  the  archives  of  Bowdoin  College, — meaning  by 
archives,  in  this  case,  the  garret  of  Maine  Hall, — 
was  long  to  be  seen  an  old  and  faded  flag.  On  a  ground  of 
white,  was  a  bristling  swine,  done  in  dubious  brown.  Astride 
this  fierce  animal,  holding  on  by  the  ears,  was  a  full-uni- 
formed military  officer.  Above  his  head  was  the  awful 
inscription,  "Bowdoin's  First  Heat."  Thereby  hangs  a  tale. 
Deeming  that  the  history  of  Maine  would  be  incomplete 
without  the  recital,  we  venture  at  our  peril  to  take  up  this 
story  of  demi-gods  and  heroes. 

As  early  as  1820,  the  students  were  annually  warned  to 
"appear  armed  and  equipped  as  the  law  directs."  Accord- 
ingly, being  incorporated  into  the  town  company,  they 
occasionally  improved  the  good  nature  of  the  inhabitants  by 
choosing  under  their  astonished  noses,  students  as  chief 
officers.  Besides  this,  they  indulged,  sav  excellent  old 
ladies  with  suitable  unction,  in  other  "highly  unbecoming 
and  indecorous  tricks."  It  is  credible  also,  judging  what 
is  past  by  what  is  present,  that  there  was  no  lack  of  practical 
jokes.  At  last,  it  being  rather  too  much  for  the  towns- 
people to  endure,  the  Legislature  passed  a  bill  exempting 
students  from  military  duty.  Then  did  peace,  like  the  dews 
of  evening,  settle  once  more  upon  Brunswick.  Its  citizens 
rejoiced  in  warlike  dignities.  They  became  Corporals  and 
Lieutenants  and  Captains,  and  were  happy.     Unconscious 

lOI 


tale:s  of  bowdoin 

innocence!  Little  they  knew  the  future  and  the  bellying 
cloud  of  disaster  above.  But  the  military  spirit  was  on  the 
increase  throughout  the  State.  Valorous  individuals  talked 
of  slaughter,  and  of  glory  won  on  tented  field.  "Our  people 
must  becon<e  citizen-soldiery.  It  is  the  onlv  safety  for  a 
free  people ;  the  only  bulwark  of  our  free  institutions."  And 
ihe  vaiorous  individuals  went  on,  as  ever,  conquering  and  to 
conquer.  As  the  result  of  all  this,  in  1836  it  seemed  good 
to  the  Legislature  of  Maine  to  pass  a  law  requiring  students 
to  train.  It  seemed  good  to  them,  also,  to  make  sarcastic 
remarks  indicative  of  contempt,  which  was  not  wise.  This 
act,  contrary  to  custom,  went  into  effect  soon  after  it  was 
passed.  Of  course  there  was  commotion  in  college.  Stump 
oratory  was  rampant.  Every  man  with  gift  of  language 
and  ability  to  collect  together  six  others,  gave  vent  to  senti- 
ment of  rebellion  in  firm  and  determined  tones,  and  backed 
them  by  irrefutable  arguments.  But  it  is  a  singular  fact, 
that  even  irrefutable  arguments  do  not  alwavs  hold  sway  in 
this  world,  nor  prevent  warrants  from  coming.  Every  stu- 
dent was  summoned ;  sick  or  well,  present  or  absent,  it  made 
no  difference.  For  the  selectmen  were  efficient  and  deter- 
mined to  sacrifice  all  things  to  duty — having  an  eye  likewise 
to  the  fines.  The  collegians,  finding  that  stump  oratory 
came  to  little,  held  a  meeting,  heard  speeches,  passed  resolu- 
tions of  a  complimentary  nature,  and  determined  to  train. 
From  that  time  it  seemed  as  if  college  had  become  a  barrack. 
"Forward  March,"  "Right  and  Left  Oblique,"  were  the  only 
sounds  to  be  heard.  At  dinner,  instead  of  peaceful  request 
to  pass  the  potatoes,  rang  the  warlike  command  to  march 
down  that  detachment  of  beef-steak,  or  order  out  that 
platoon  of  potatoes,  or  squadron  of  pie.  Meantime,  active 
preparation  went  on  behind  the  scenes.  Only  sometimes,  by 
glancing  at  the  windows,  you  might  see  "hideous  forms 

102 


THI$    MAY  TRAINING 

shrinking  from  sight,"  and  fancy  college  had  turned  menag- 
erie, and  all  the  animals  got  loose. 

At  length  came  on  the  eventful  day.  The  roll  of  war- 
drums  and  roar  of  artillery  heralded  and  ushered  in  the 
dawn.  The  rays  of  the  rising  sun  slanted  across  the  baleful 
banners  flung  from  the  peaceful  Halls  of  Learning.  The 
village  spire,  forgetting  to  point  heavenward,  draped  its 
summit  in  the  folds  of  a  fearful  flag,  on  which  you  might 
have  read  the  soul-inspiring,  foe-disheartening  '^'^be^i.i.um."" 
The  sun  reached  the  zenith.  From  all  quarters  the  motley 
crowd  poured  into  the  college  grounds.  Every  man  was  a 
master-piece.  The  ingenuity  of  weeks  had  not  been  put 
forth  in  vain.  Some  glowered  in  painted  faces.  Masks 
transformed  some  into  fantastic  demons.  Gorgeous  whis- 
kers, putting  to  shame  all  the  music  teachers  for  miles 
around,  bristled  on  the  cheeks  of  the  'mailed  minions'  of 
war.  Through  huge  goggles  leered  the  mocking  images 
of  old  age,  and  around  sides  shaking  with  laughter  were  tied 
melancholy  badges  of  despair.  The  head  gear  was  equally 
varied.  Broad  brimmed  beavers,  smart  cocked  hats,  hats  of 
every  size,  shape  and  fashion,  from  a  clown's  bag  to  a  gen- 
eral's chapeau,  topped  heads  brimming  with  wisdom. 
Plumes  of  all  styles,  of  old  rope  feathers,  brooms  and 
brushes,  waved  from  tin  caps  and  chapeaux  de  bras.  One 
Peucinian,  worthy  even  of  later  time,  mounted  a  helmet  of 
bark  from  which  floated  down  the  majestic  pine  bough, — 
''pinos  loquentes  semper."  For  arms  they  bore  claymores 
and  cimeters,  iron  or  wooden,  rusty  guns  rendered  trust- 
worthy by  padlocks,  handspikes,  poleaxes,  scvthes,  brooms, 
bayonets,  spears,  case-knives,  and  saws.  And  had  the  Cal- 
culus been  born  into  the  world,  that  "sublime  instrument" 
would  have  adorned  every  hand.  As  for  body  equipments, 
every  battle-field  from  Bannockburn  to  Queenstown  seemed 

103 


TALES    Oif   BOWDOIN 

to  have  stripped  its  dead  and  furnished  its  share.  No  eye 
ever  before  beheld  such  motley  groups.  All  the  nations  and 
tribes,  from  Lapland  to  Australia,  were  mimicked  and 
caricatured  to  perfection.  Thus  the  crowd  stood,  each  con- 
vulsed with  laughter  at  the  comical  costume  of  the  other. 
And  thus  equipped,  they  were  marshaled  in  order  of  classes, 
the  Pandean  and  Pandowdy  musical  bands  marching  in  the 
van,  beneath  a  flag  inscribed  "The  De'il  cam'  fiddlin' 
through  the  Town."  The  medical  class  followed  with  a 
banner  bearing  an  armed  skeleton  surrounded  by,  the  motto, 
''Magna  est  medicina  et  prevalehit."  The  Seniors  and 
Juniors  carried  the  flag  we  have  already  described.  The 
Sophomores  were  cheered  on  by  the  goddess  of  Victory  and 
Death,  with  the  motto  "Dulce  et  decorum  pro  patria  mori/' 
and  the  Freshmen  by  a  jackass  rampant,  and  beneath  him, 
''The  Sage  ass,  v.^hat  made  the  law.'' 

Then  commenced  the  march.  Slowly  swelled  the  solemn 
strains  from  the  Pandean  and  Pandowdy.  Standards  waved 
and  horns  blew  most  melodiously.  Welcome  worthy  the 
noble  commander,  who  appeared  just  then  to  pluck  the 
fadeless  laurels  of  that  fadeless  day.  He  merits  particular 
description,  says  the  ancient  chronicler,  and  so,  having 
materials,  we  describe  him.  On  his  head  was  a  diminutive 
hat.  Over  his  shoulders  drooped  the  "waving  folds"  of  an 
ox-tail  plume.  Wooden  goggles  bestrode  his  nose.  Behind 
his  back  clattered  an  old  hat,  a  canteen,  a  tin-kettle,  a  cigar 
box,  and  Heaven  knows  what  else.  His  horse  was  a  strange 
animal,  "compound  of  horse  and  jackass."  Price  eight  dol- 
lars, as  was  afterwards  discovered,  for  he  died  on  the  field 
of  glory. 

Receiving  with  shouts  of  applause  their  hero,  who  bowed 
to  the  very  verge  of  equilibrium,  the  troops  marched  down 
Maine  street,  crossed  into  Back  Stand,  and  proceeded  to  the 

104 


TH]^    MAY   TRAINING 

place  of  training  behind  the  Bank,  where  now  a  row  of  quiet 
cottages,  each  one  just  like  the  other,  peacefully  rear  their 
roofs, — their  commander  amusing  them  meantime  with  com- 
ical remarks,  pleasant  no  doubt  then,  but  unappreciable  at 
this  present  day.  Arrived  on  the  grounds,  the  deep-mouthed 
cannon  thundered  them  salute.  They  were  then  drawn  up 
before  their  captain  to  listen  to  the  roll-call.  "Attend," 
commanded  he,  "and  answer  to  your  names."  The  whole 
troop  thronged  round  the  affrighted  officer.  "One  at  a 
time"  trembled  he  in  terror-stricken  tones.  The  clerk  called 
the  first  name.  "Here !"  "Here !"  shouted  all  the  posse  in 
a  breath.  Next  name.  "Here!"  "Here!"  from  all  again. 
The  Colonel  as  before  makes  a  few  jocose  remarks  which 
cannot  be  smiled  at  now.  At  last,  order  was  restored  and 
the  roll-call  went  on.  Then  began  the  examination  of 
equipments.  They  stepped  forward,  one  by  one.  "Mark 
him  down — no  equipments,"  shouted  the  captain,  grown 
quite  valorous  now,  finding  no  personal  injury  intended. 
The  spectators  nearly  split  their  sides,  while  rage  was  filling 
the  hardened  bosom  of  the  man  of  war.  But  what  could  he 
do,  when  his  officers  were  "grinning  around  him  like  bears 
at  bay  ?"  This  ended,  they  were  ordered  to  form  a  line. 
"We've  formed  a  line,  but  we  can't  keep  it,"  mourned  the 
valiant  defenders  of  their  country.  "Form  a  line,  or  march 
off  the  field,"  roared  the  despairing  and  discomfited  captain, 
biting  his  lips. 

Loudly  swelled  the  strains  of  triumph  from  Pandean  and 
Pandowdy.  Wreathed  with  earliest  victory  and  laureled 
with  latest  renown,  the  conquerors  left  the  field,  their  swords 
unsheathed,  their  guns  unfired,  but  their  souls  lifted  heaven- 
ward by  the  glowing  consciousness  of  battle  done  for  truth 
and  right. ,    So  they  marched  on,  through  the  verdant  streets 

105 


TALES    OF    BOWDOIN 

of  Brunswick,  and  the  shaded  lanes  of  Topsham,  until  they 
reached  the  college  grounds.  There,  as  everywhere,  noble 
tongues  were  burning  to  eulogize  noble  deeds. 

"Fellow-students  and  Soldiers,"  began  the  orator,  whose 
speech  has  come  down  to  our  day,  "Fellow- Students  and 
Soldiers,  you  have  earned  for  yourself  and  your  country, 
never-fading  laurels.  When  dangers  and  perils  thickened 
around  your  devoted  country,  when  her  hardy  yeomanry 
were  no  longer  able  to  defend  her  soil  and  her  liberties,  you 
have  nobly  stepped  forth  to  her  rescue.  You  have  doffed 
your  Students'  gowns  and  assumed  the  mailed  dress  of  war. 
You  have  exchanged  the  badges  of  literary  distinction  for 
the  toils  and  dangers  of  the  battle-field.  You  have  extin- 
guished the  midnight  lamp  and  lit  in  its  place  the  fiery  torch 
of  Mars.  If  you  have  followed  Minerva  in  the  flowery 
paths  of  literature;  if  you  have  toiled  with  her  up  the  rugged 
steps  of  science ;  you  have  also  followed  her  in  the  ranks  of 
v/ar  and  glory.  If  you  have  twined  about  your  brows  the 
prizes  of  poetic  distinction,  you  have  also  encircled  your 
temples  with  the  wreaths  of  military  glory.  Yes,  Fellow- 
Students!  side  by  side  we  have  followed  in  the  career  of 
literary  fame,  and  shoulder  to  shoulder  will  we  advance  in 
the  cause  of  liberty,  law,  and  our  country. 

"Soldiers,  you  have  deserved  well  of  your  country,  and 
think  not  but  that  she  will  fully  discharge  the  debt.  Stu- 
dents and  Soldiers,  let  this  be  our  motto — "War  and 
Science,  Military  Glory  and  Literary  Distinction,  Now  and 
Forever,  one  and  inseparable.'' 

Thus  we  have  endeavored  to  collect  and  preserve  what- 
ever might  be  valuable  of  a  scene  and  action  which  still 
lingers  in  dim  tradition  about  the  college  walls.  Of  its 
consequences,  it  suffices  to  say,  that  it  was  the  prime  cause 

io6 


THE    MAY   TRAINING 

of  that  Utter  contempt  into  which  general  musters  soon  sank 
within  the  bounds  of  Maine*  As  to  its  immediate  effects, 
no  pen  can  do  it  justice;  for  no  pen  can  bring  back  the 
quaint  antics  of  the  actors,  the  jolly  laughter  of  staid  pro- 
fessors, or  fill  again  the  windows  with  the  giggling  groups, 
or  line  the  sidewalks  with  the  grinning  sovereigns. 


LOST:  LOVE'S  LABOR 

Webb  Donnell,  '85 


f 


LOST:   LOVPS  LABOR 

THE  Freshman  class  had  been  unfortunate.  On  the 
diamond,  the  gridiron  and  in  the  tu^  o'  war,  lacking 
as  it  did  the  united  action  that  comes  of  lon^  association  and 
practice,  it  had  fallen  an  easy,  victim  to  the  doughty  Sopho- 
more class.  In  consequence,  naturally,  the  Freshies  to  a 
man  felt  sore  and  vindictive. 

Even  worse  was  to  follow.  On  All  Fools'  Day  the 
Sophomores  prepared  a  most  stupendous  hoax  for  the  lower 
classmen,  who  with  the  buoyant  step  of  childhood  walked 
plump  into  it,  and  became  forthwith  the  laughing  stock  of 
college,  town  and  State  itself.  The  wounds  inflicted  by  the 
unfortunate  class  contests  were  as  nothing  to  the  gaping 
rents  torn  in  the  poor  Freshies'  feelings  by  this  latest 
adversity. 

Such  was  the  state  of  things  when  rumors  began  to  circu- 
late that  the  Bugle,  that  lagging  annual  of  the  students,  was 
getting  ready  to  be  born.  The  Freshmen,  in  the  light  of 
past  experience,  began  to  suffer  qualms.  Disaster  was  in 
the  air.  And  presently  premonitions  became  actualities,  for 
definite  rumors  went  the  rounds  that  a  most  scathing,  most 
harrowing  cartoon,  based  on  the  All  Fools'  Day  episode, 
.  was  already  in  preparation  for  the  year-book,  as  the  jubilant 
Sophs'  contribution  to  the  "grinds"  that  publication  was 
wont  to  contain. 

A  Bowdoin  graduate  of  the  year  before  had  recently 
obtained  a  position  on  one  of  the  great  New  York  dailies 
and  formed  a  delightful  friendship  with  the  paper's  most 

III 


TAI,ES    OF    BOWDOIN 

illustrious  cartoonist.  This  artist  had  an  enviable  repute  for 
his  keen  political  "take-offs"  and  more  than  one  public  man 
had  writhed  under  the  sting  of  his  sharp-toothed  sarcasm. 
Nast's  power  in  the  days  of  Tweed  was  small  compared  with 
the  wide  reach  of  this  man's  influence.  Now,  it  would 
seem,  it  was  the  turn  of  the  Bowdoin  Freshmen  to  writhe. 
And  how  they  did  it! 

The  aid  of  the  Bowdoin  man  in  New  York  had  been 
solicited  by  the  Sophomores,  and  he  had  induced  the  great 
cartoonist  to  exert  his  skill  upon  the  All  Fool's  incident. 
The  consideration  which  the  Bowdoin  man  had  mentioned 
as  usual  for  such  work  had,  to  be  sure,  drained  the  class 
treasury  to  its  dregs,  but  it  was  worth  the  money.  The 
knowledge  of  this  great  deal  had  been  jealously  guarded  by 
the  Sophomores  to  give  keener  zest  to  the  grand  finale  of  its 
discovery  between  the  covers  of  the  Bugle.  But,  alas !  one 
irrepressible  Soph  had  not  been  able  to  withstand  the  strain. 
He  had  gleefully  whispered  the  secret  to  a  young  lady  down 
town,  and  she  in  turn  had  imparted  it  under  ban  of  awful 
penalty  if  revealed,  to  her  particular  friend.  As  this  latter 
young  lady  had  a  brother  in  the  Freshman  class, — lo,  the 
pipe-line  of  information  was  laid! 

One  day,  a  little  later,  Mathewson  of  the  Freshman  class 
blustered  into  the  corner  room  on  the  ground  floor  of  old 
Appleton. 

**Tucker,"  he  fumed,  "that  cartoon's  come!  It's  in 
Ware's  room  in  Winthrop — yes,  sir.  There's  been  a  steady 
stream  of  Sophs  going  in  and  out  all  the  morning,  and 
every  man  Jack  of  'em's  grinning  and  hugging  himself — 
confound  him ! — when  he  comes  out." 

"Hold  on !  Where'd  you  get  so  chockful  of  informa- 
tion ?"  demanded  Tucker,  whirling  round  on  his  pivot-chair, 
"'Get  your  breath,  man,  and  then  sail  in." 

112 


LOST:    LOVES    LABOR 

"Oh,  it's  straight  goods,  all  right.  That  beastly  cartoon 
is  up  there  just  as  I  say,  and  Fd  give  my  year's  allowance  to 
get  my  hands  on  it !  If  you  don't  believe  me,  look  out  the 
window,  will  you  ?  There  comes  Chippie  Pike  on  a  bee  line 
from  Winthrop.— Well?" 

"Fm  satisfied,"  groaned  Tucker,  "It's  writ  large  on  his 
face,  confound  his  impudence!     The  jig's  up,  Mathew." 

"No,  sir!"  roared  Mathewson.  "I  won't  have  it  up!  I 
tell  you  we've  got  to  save  the  class — be  Joan  of  Arcs — er — 
that  is — " 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  Don't  hunt  up  anybody  else.  We 
couldn't  improve  on  the  old  girl,"  rejoined  Tucker  drily. 

The  conversation  was  stopped  here  by  the  arrival  of  reci- 
tation hour.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  neither  youns:  gentleman 
made  any  material  advancement  in  the  knowledge  of  Greek 
versification  that  day,  though  Mathewson  distinguished 
himself  by  locating  the  Acropolis  on  the  third  floor  of  Win- 
throp Hall.  His  mind  was  busy  with  ways  and  means  for 
getting  possession  of  the  obnoxious  cartoon  in  Ware's  room. 
The  discomfiture  of  his  class  must  be  warded  off  by  fair 
means  or  foul.     It  was  not  a  time  for  nice  discriminations. 

When  the  recitation  ended,  he  turned  off  bv  himself  and 
sauntered  by  the  rear  of  Winthrop,  locating  Ware's  room  by 
a  rapid  glance.  He  noted  with  grim  satisfaction  a  circum- 
stance that  had  escaped  him  heretofore,  that  an  iron  water 
pipe  ran  near  the  window.  Ware,  he  knew,  roomed  alone. 
Now,  if  he  would  only  take  it  into  his  head  to  be  away  that 
evening ! 

In  the  course  of  some  quiet  investigation  during  the  after- 
noon, Mathewson  ascertained  that  Ware  belonged  to  a 
Sophomore  Whist  Club  which  met  two  evenings  a  week  in 
a  room  in  Appleton.  The  next  meeting  was  on  the  night 
following.  Delay  seemed  hazardous  since  at  any  time  the 
G  113 


TALES    01*    BOWDOIN 

cut  might  be  posted  away  to  the  engravers.  Yet  there 
would  appear  to  be  nothing  for  it  but  to  wait.  That,  in  the 
eye  of  the  law,  the  abstraction  of  property  from  another's 
premises  would  be  regarded  as  ''breaking  and  entering," 
did  not  escape  Mathewson's  observation,  but  his  feelings 
were  roused  to  such  a  pitch  that  nothing  short  of  hanging 
would  have  deterred  him  from  the  attempt  to  save  his  class. 
He  would,  of  course,  say  nothing  to  Tucker — better  take  the 
risk  alone. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  next  evening  Mathewson  slipped 
gently  over  to  Winthrop,  congratulating  himself  that  the 
moon  was  hidden  behind  dense  clouds  and  that  nearly  all 
the  windows  in  the  End  were  unlighted.  He  stole  around 
to  the  rear  of  the  building  and,  after  making  sure  that 
Ware's  window,  too,  was  dark,  went  up  the  iron  pipe,  hand 
over  hand,  with  the  ease  of  an  athlete.  The  window  on  the 
third  floor  had  been  left  open,  as  the  weather  was  mild. 
There  was  nothing  to  impede  Mathewson's  entrance. 
Burglarwise,  he  had  come  supplied  with  a  dark  lantern, 
though  the  professional  article  is  not  usually  improvised 
from  a  pasteboard  box  and  a  wax  candle. 

The  amateur  "grafter"  slid  noiselessly  through  the  win- 
dow and  dropped  to  the  floor  within.  Moving  softly  to  the 
opposite  side  of  the  room  that  he  might  light  his  candle  as 
far  out  of  window-range  as  possible,  he  pulled  out  of  his 
pocket  the  lantern  and  matches.  It  was  just  at  this  instant 
that  the  door  of  the  sleeping  room  swung  open  and  a  figure 
barely  outlined  in  the  darkness  glided  forth. 

Mathewson  held  his  breath  in  the  horror  of  the  situation. 
His  heart  suspended  its  beats,  then  began  raining  sledge- 
hammer blows  against  his  ribs.  In  a  flash  he  realized  just 
what  had  happened.     Ware  had  not  gone  to  Whist  Club,— 

114 


I,OST  :    LOVE  S    lyABOR 

headache,  likely, — gone  to  bed  early, — heard  noise, — defend 
his  own  or  die, — great  Heavens ! 

The  figure  advanced  across  the  room.  Mathewson  knew 
that  if  it  reached  the  mantle  and  struck  a  light  the  jig  was 
up.  There  was  no  time  to  get  to  the  window,  and  he  boldly 
resolved  upon  the  only  alternative.  With  a  light  bound  he 
was  on  the  silhouetted  figure  and  grappling  with  it. 

Ware  was  a  muscular  fellow,  as  Mathewson  well  knew. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  two  were  finely  matched  in  point 
of  endurance  and  athletic  skill.  The  Freshman  had  been 
picked  for  all  his  class  contests  and  for  one  of  the  'Varsity 
teams  as  well.  It  looked  like  an  even  chance.  Mathew- 
son's  fierce  onslatight  bore  his  opponent  to  the  floor,  but 
there  the  advantage  ended.  Then  began  one  of  the  most 
evenly-matched  contests  of  physical  strength  and  skill  that 
Bowdoin  ever  saw. 

Mathewson's  plan  was  to  force  Ware  back  into  the  bed- 
room and  lock  him  in,  thus  affording  himself  opportunity  to 
make  good  his  escape.  But  the  plan  did  not  work.  The 
man  he  had  grappled  with  was  as  sitrong  and  determined  as 
he  and  apparently  as  skilful  a  wrestler.  Every  effort  on 
the  part  of  either  one  to  gain  an  advantage  was  checkmated 
by  the  other.  If  with  a  desperate  lunge  the  Freshman  bore 
his  antagonist  toward  the  sleeping-room,  he  was  sure  to  find 
himself  forced  back  as  far  and  as  lustily.  Now  they  fought 
standing,  locked  to  each  other  in  an  embrace  of  iron.  Now 
they  plunged  rolling  upon  the  floor.  Their  muscles  stood 
out  in  ridges  on  their  heaving  bodies. 

For  obvious  reasons  Mathewson  uttered  no  sound.  He 
was  grimly  determined  not  to  give  himself  away.  In  the 
interstices  of  the  struggle  he  was  forced  to  admire  the 
other's  pluck  in  gamely  fighting  to  the  finish,  instead  of 
calling  loudly  for  help,  as  he  might  easily  have  done. 

115 


TAI,ES   OF    BOWDOIN 

Twenty  minutes  passed  without  a  sound  except  the  dull 
thuds  of  their  bodies  on  the  floor,  as  with  plung^es  and 
counter-plunges  they  tried  each  other's  strength  to  the 
utmost.  A  half  hour  passed.  Still  they  wrestled  on  grimly, 
the  sweat  streaming  over  their  foreheads  and  into  their 
eyes.  The  blood  of  both  was  "up."  There  was  no  thought 
of  calling  a  truce. 

At  three  quarters  of  an  hour  the  fight  was  still  on,  but 
Hearing!  a  finish.  Flesh  and  blood  have  their  limitations  even 
when  muscles  are  at  their  finest.  Each  nerved  himself  for 
a  final,  desperate  struggle  in  the  darkness.  For  the  first 
time  in  the  terrific  encounter,  a  twisting,  wrenching  side- 
throw  on  the  part  of  each  tore  their  weakened  hold  asunder, 
and  both  fell  heavily  to  the  floor,  just  as  a  bar  of  clear 
moonlight  slanted  into  the  room. 

Then  Mathewson  saw,  sitting  opposite  him  on  the  floor, 
not  Ware  but  his  own  particular  friend.  Tucker!  Both 
glared  at  each  other  with  wrathful  eyes. 

"What —  in —  Hades —  have —  you —  been —  punching — 
me —  for?"   gasped  Mathewson  windedly. 

"What —  in —  Tophet —  did —  you —  pitch —  into —  me — 
for?"  demanded  Tucker  hotly.  Then  the  humor  of  the 
situation  appealed  to  both,  and  they  grinned.  This  relieved 
the  tension  and  paved  the  way  for  explanations. 

"I  must  have  shinned  up  the  water-pipe  about  three 
minutes  before  you  did,"  Tucker  panted,  not  yet  in  com- 
mand of  his  breath,  "I  came  after  that  beastly  picture." 

"Same  here,  'Great  minds',  etc,"  smiled  Mathewson 
feebly. 

"Well,  I  was  on  the  trail  of  a  match.  Forgot  to  bring 
any,  confound  it !  When  you  sailed  into  me,  I  thought  the 
judgment  day  had  come,  for  sure." 

"Same  here." 

ii6 


I.OST:    I,OVKS    LABOR 

"Thought  you  were  Ware,  blest  if  I  didn't !" 

**Oh,  same  here,  same  here!"  groaned  Mathewson,  rub- 
bing himself  solicitously.  But  I  say — we'd  better  be  light- 
ing out  of  here,  or  Ware'll  be  home,  and  I'll  bet  he'd  do  us 
both  now.     I'm  played  out." 

"Same  here,"  quoted  Tucker  mirthlessly. 

As  they  got  painfully  to  their  feet  the  tricky  moonlight 
deserted  them,  and  the  room  was  in  darkness  again. 

"I'm  not  going  now  till  I've  got  my  grip  on  that  picture," 
vowed  Tucker.  "Think  I'm  going  to  give  it  up  after  you've 
broken  all  my  precious  bones  over  it  ?     Got  a  match  ?" 

They  groped  about  on  the  floor  until  the  little  improvised 
dark-lantern  Mathewson  had  brought  was  found.  Then  by 
it  dim  light  they  ransacked  the  room.  The  desk  in  one 
corner  came  under  fire  and  drawers  were  pulled  out  and 
pigeon-holes  ruthlessly  hunted  through. 

"Here  she  is !"  whispered  Mathewson  excitedly,  holding 
up  a  flat  package  he  had  unearthed  in  the  lower  drawer. 
Tearing  apart  the  wrapping,  he  disclosed  the  pen-and-ink 
drawing  for  which  they  had  both  risked  so  much.  It  lay 
between  two  pasteboard  protectors  and  leered  up  at  them 
shamelessly. 

In  the  instant  of  their  triumph,  they  heard  a  step  some- 
where down  the  hall.  It  was  coming  toward  them  and  they 
jumped  guiltily. 

"It's  Ware,  as  I'm  a  sinner !"  breathed  Mathewson. 

"The  window — run  for  it!"  hissed  Tucker  between  his 
teeth.  And  within  three  seconds  both  sinners  were  sliding 
noiselessly  down  the  water-pipe.  Mathewson  gripped  the 
precious  picture  tightly  under  his  arm.  One  soft  thud  close 
on  the  heels  of  the  other,  they  dropped  to  the  ground  and 
scudded  silently  away.  Safe  in  Mathewson's  room,  Tucker 
dropped  in  a  heap  on  the  couch  and  mopped  his  face. 

117 


tale:s  of  bowdoin 

"Great  Scott,  that  was  a  close  shave !"  he  ejaculated.  "I 
shall  have  nervous  prostration.     I'm  tottering  on  the  verge." 

"On  the  verge !  I'm  there.  I've  landed  on  all  four  feet," 
mumbled  Mathewson  weakly.  "I'm  a  physical  wreck;  my 
own  mother  wouldn't  know  me." 

"Well,  you  do  look  considerably  like  a  ruin,  but  chirk  up, 
old  man,  'All's  well  that  ends  well.'  We've  ^ot  that  scurri- 
lous cut,  any  how.  That  is  worth  getting  pummelled  for, 
even  by  your  best  friend.  Let's  have  another  look  at  the 
thing,  will  you  ?" 

With  an  effort  he  got  to  his  feet  again  and  crossed  the 
room  to  peer  over  the  other's  shoulder.  One  look  satisfied 
him. 

"Heavens  and  earth,  ain't  it  the  'most  unkindest  cut  of 
all !'  "  he  fumed,  brandishing  his  clenched  fists  and  scowling 
with  rage. 

"It's  all  o'  that.     Confound  the  Soph hullo,  what's 

this?"  Mathewson  held  up  a  slip  of  paper  which  had 
dropped  from  between  the  protectors  of  the  picture.  It  was 
a  Post  Office  money  order,  on  the  New  York  Post  Office, 
for  one  hundred  dollars.  There  was  nothing  to  explain  its 
presence  to  the  two  bewildered  gazers,  but  the  mere  fact  of 
its  being  there  was  enough.  Cold  shivers  travelled  rapidlv 
up  and  down  two  weary  spinal  columns,  and  the  sweat  of 
horror  beaded  their  faces. 

The  money  order  had  been  returned  by  the  artist  out  of 
courtesy  to  the  Bowdoin  man.  He  had  chosen  to  do  the 
work  gratuitously  for  his  friend's  college  acquaintances, 
though  this,  of  course,  was  not  known  to  the  two  Freshmen. 
Ware  had  carelessly  allowed  the  order  to  remain  in  the 
package,  as,  being  class  funds,  there  was  no  present  demand 
for  it. 

Ii8 


I.OST:    WVZS   LABOR 

**0h,  Lord!"  groaned  Mathewson,  "We've  done  it  now! 
This  is  burglary  with  a  vengeance." 

"State's  prison  offence,"  mumbled  Tucker. 

Not  feeling  exactly  like  standing,  they  both  sat  down  and 
continued  staring  at  each  other  foolishly. 

"Why  in  thunder  didn't  you  light  on  the  money  order 
when  you  opened  the  thing  in  Ware's  room?"  demanded 
Tucker  at  length  in  strong  accents  of  reproach. 

"Well,  I  call  that  cool!"  Mathewson  rejoined  with  heat, 
"Weren't  you  looking  on  all  the  time?  Besides,  what  time 
was  there  to  'light'  on  anything?  We  had  all  we  could  do 
to  light  out !  But  that  doesn't  count  now.  What  I  want  to 
know  is  how  in  creation's  name  are  we  going  to  get  this 
blamed  thing  back  where  it  belongs  ?  I  shan't  sleep  a  wink 
till  I  get  it  off  my  hands.     Ugh !  they  smell  of  blood !" 

Tucker  laughed  in  spite  of  his  own  gloom. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "We  can't  get  rid  of  it  to-night,  that's 
certain.  Ware's  in  his  room.  The  fates  send  he  won't  miss 
the  thing  short  oft'!  Don't  you  worry,  old  man,  he  won't. 
We'll  hit  on  some  way  to  get  it  back  into  his  desk  to-mor- 
row." 

But  the  seriousness  of  the  affair  weighed  heavily  on 
Mathewson.  He  realized  that  it  was  no  light  thing  to  enter 
a  man's  premises  and  carry  off  a  hundred  dollars.  He  failed 
to  share  in  any  cheerful  views  concerning  the  wretched 
matter. 

"  What's  done  at  all  has  got  to  be  done  to-night,"  he  said 
finally,  "There'll  be  another  procession  of  Sophs  in  to-mor- 
row to  gloat  over  that  funny  picture  and  it  won't  be  there. 
Then  where'll  we  be?  We've  got  to  hit  on  that  nice  little 
plan  of  yours  straightway.     Go  ahead, — out  with  it." 

Both  fellows  sat  in  a  brown  study  for  some  time.  Then 
Tucker  had  an  inspiration  born  of  his  desperate  need. 

"9 


TALES    OF    BOWDOIN 

"I  have  it!'*  he  said  jubilantly,  "We'll  hatch  up  a  tele- 
gram from  his  folks, — sickness — suicide — cholera — any- 
thing good  and  urgent.  We'll  have  it  delivered  before  he's 
up  in  the  morning  which  won't  be  before  seven,  likely. 
Ware's  a  dozy  cad.  You  see  that'll  start  the  dear  boy  off 
on  the  early  train  and  give  him  something  besides  guying 
the  Freshies  to  think  about." 

"It'll  do!"  nodded  Mathewson  approvingly,  "When  you're 
drowning  you  catch  at  straws.  I've  got  a  lot  of  dispatches 
here  from  the  mater.  The  luck's  on  our  side.  They're 
written  in  lead  pencil  by  the  operator  down  town  and  it's 
easy  enough  to  rub  'em  out."  He  hunted  up  half  a  dozen 
yellow  envelopes  and  spread  them  out  on  the  table. 

"Seems  to  me  your  mother  takes  an  expensive  way  to 
communicate  with  you,"  remarked  Tucker. 

"Oh  nothing's  too  good  for  me !"  laughed  the  other,  but 
there  was  a  tender  quality  in  his  tone  that  did  not  escape  his 
friend.  "These  are  'health  telegrams.'  The  mater  lives 
out  West,  where  the  weather's  born  and  she  gets  the  advance 
tips.  All  our  hot  and  cold  weaves  and  big  storms  travel 
from  west  to  east,  you  know, — that  makes  it  dead  easy  for 
the  mater.  She  keeps  me  informed  a  day  ahead."  He  took 
up  two  of  the  little  messages  and  read  them  aloud. 

"Cold  wave  coming.    Put  on  thick  undershirt.  MOTHER." 

"Expect  rain  to-morrow.    Don't  forget  rubbers.  MOTHER." 

"By  Jove !  that  one  came  to-day,"  he  exclaimed.  "Can't 
take  that.  It's  got  to  go  up  on  the  bulletin  board."  And 
he  pinned  it  carefully  in  a  bit  of  bare  wall  space.  The 
plastering  looked  worn  and  fretted  as  if  other  health  mes- 
sages had  hung  there  in  their  time. 

After  diligent  use  of  erasers,  a  blank  and  envelope  suffi- 
ciently fresh  in  appearance  for  their  uses,  were  found. 

120 


LOST:  love's  labor 

"Now  for  the  wording  of  it,  said  Tucker.  "Where  does 
Ware  hail  from,  anyhow?" 

They  got  a  catalogue  and  settled  that  point  speedily. 

"How's  this?"'  went  on  Tucker,  after  scribbling  for  a. 
moment. 

"Your  mother  not  expected  to  live.    Come  borne  at  once.      FATHER." 

"What's  the  matter  with  that?" 

"No,  hang  it!"  cried  the  other,  "don't  say,  'mother  not 
expected' — make  it  'father.'  We've  got  some  decency  left."^ 
Which  went  to  further  prove  that  Mathewson  had  a  soft 
'spot  in  his  heart  for  mothers.  Accordingly  the  two  words 
were  interchanged  in  the  improvised  dispatch  and  the  two 
wicked  ones  gazed  at  it  critically. 

"vSeems  most  too  bad  though  to  make  the  poor  devil  think 
his  pater's  gomg  to  die,  doesn't  it  ?"  said  the  more  conscien- 
tious Mathewson. 

"Didn't  say  he  was  going  to  die,"  Tucker  retorted.. 
"  'Not  expected  to  live' — forever,  I  meant,  of  course,  but 
that  makes  eleven  words,  and  this  thing's  got  to  go  for  a 
quarter.  The  unexpected  joy  he'll  experience  when  he  gets 
home  and  finds  the  old  man  alive  and  kicking  will  make  it 
all  up.  That's  the  plan  on  which  joy  and  sorrow,  weal  or 
woe,  sickness  or  dea " 

"Oh,  chuck  it!"  growled  Mathewson.  "How  the  deuce 
are  we  to  get  this  nice  little  message  delivered  to  Ware?" 

"Hire  a  messenger-boy  down  town.  Kiddie  Quinn's  just 
the  ticket.  He'll  do  it  for  love  of  me — and  a  quarter. 
Keep  mum  about  it,  too." 

Kiddie  did  it  for  a  quarter  and  kept  mum.  But  for  some 
reason  the  message  did  not  appear  to  produce  the  effect 
upon  Ware  that  had  been  expected.  He  did  not  take  the 
early  train  for  home.     At  ten  o'clock  he  was  observed   by 

121 


TALES    OF    BOWDOIN 

both  Mathewson  and  Tucker  going  about  his  daily  business 
in  a  most  matter-of-fact  way.  No  one  would  have  dreamed 
that  he  was  threatened  with  the  loss  of  a  parent. 

"Unnatural  son  !'*  exploded  Mathewson  under  his  breath, 
^'Hasn't  the  duffer  any  sort  of  affection  for  his  dying 
father?" 

"Perhaps  the  kid  laid  down  on  his  job,  who  knows?" 
Tucker  suggested.  The  idea  seemed  worth  investigating. 
They  hunted  up  the  kid. 

"Look  here,  Cap'n,"  cried  one  of  them  with  startling 
abruptness,  "did  you  deliver  that  telegram  ?" 

"Yep." 

"Sure?" 

"Cross  me  heart." 

"And  the  gentleman  opened  it  before  your  face  and  eyes  ?" 

"Yep." 

"Well,  what  did  he  do?    Hurry  up!" 

"Nothin' — just  grinned." 

"Didn't  he  say  anything  when  he  read  it?" 

"Said  he  was  an  orphan." 

"Oh ! — oh,  he  did,  did  he?"  And  two  subdued  Freshmen 
walked  back  up  the  hill  without  another  word. 

"We'll  simply  have  to  trust  to  luck  that  he  won't  miss  the 
picture  to-day,"  Mathewson  said,  when  they  were  in  his 
room  once  more.  "We^U  watch  out  and  if  we  see  Ware 
making  for  down  town  this  evening,  one  of  us  will  shin  up 
the  pipe  again  and  put  the  package  back  in  its  place,  minus 
the  picture.     That's  all  there  is  left  to  do." 

"And  we'll  do  it.  Don't  you  worry,  old  man.  Ware 
always  trots  down  to  the  depot  with  the  rest  o'  the  chaps  at 
train  time,  to  see  if  there  isn't  'somebody  from  up  home,' 
.aboard.     That's  our  cue." 

122 


LOST:  love:s  labor 

For  tv/o  hours  that  evening  they  kept  watch  over  the 
north  end  door  of  Winthrop,  from  near-by  shrubbery. 
Train  time  came  and  went  and  still  they  waited.  They  were 
finally  rewarded  by  seeing  Ware  issue  forth  with  a  friend 
and  take  the  path  across  the  campus  toward  Mlaine  street. 
Waiting  only  for  him  to  get  well  out  of  sight,  they  crept 
round  in  the  darkness  to  the  rear  of  the  hall,  and  Mathew- 
son  was  soon  going  nimbly  up  the  water-pipe  once  more. 
Tucker  did  sentry  duty  below.  Everything  was  dark  and 
still  and  favorable. 

Mathewson  carefully  replaced  the  flat  packet  where  he 
had  found  it  the  night  before,  and  had  just  started  down  the 
slippery  pipe  again  when  a  noise  at  a  window  above  dis- 
concerted him  for  an  instant.  His  hold  weakened  and  he 
plunged  heavily  to  the  ground. 

Tucker  helped  him  back  to  Appleton  and  into  his  own 
room,  then  went  for  a  doctor  This  gentleman  set  half  a 
dozen  of  his  ribs,  put  him  into  a  plaster  jacket  and  ordered 
him  into  bed.  But  broken  ribs  are  of  small  account  when 
a  man  has  saved  his  class  and  rouses  out  of  his  groans  to 
find  himself  a  class  hero.  That  should  make  up  for  a  good 
many  pains  and  beastly  long  hours  of  lying  on  one's  back 
instead  of  running  bases  or  swinging  racquets  out  in  the 
sun.  Tucker,  too,  would  have  been  regarded  in  the  light 
of  a  hero,  had  it  not  been  that  all  his  ribs  were  intact ! 

The  class  felt  profoundly  grateful  for  its  deliverance  from 
the  threatened  ignominy  and  could  not  apparently  do 
enough  for  its  deliverer.  Thus  it  happened  that  Mathew- 
son's  room  became  the  gathering  place  for  as  many  of  the 
Freshman  class  as  it  would  hold.  Intent  upon  entertaining 
him  they  taxed  the  accommodations  of  the  place  to  the 
utmost. 

123 


TALES   0^   BOWDOIN 

The  room  was  well  filled  one  morning  about  ten  days 
after  the  accident  to  the  class-god,  when  a  shrill  cry  was 
heard  from  the  campus  outside.  It  was  repeated  from  hall 
to  hall  and  swelled  to  a  chorus. 

"Hark!"  exclaimed  one  of  the  assembled  Freshmen, 
"Mtthinks  I  hear  the  Bugle-call !" 

There  was  a  rush  down  stairs  and  a  scurrying  off  to  the 
room  where  the  newly-arrived  Bugles  would  be  on  sale,  then 
a  hot  race  back  to  Mathewson's  bedside  with  the  books.  A 
shower  of  them  fell  upon  the  bed. 

"There,  old  man,  we'll  give  you  first  peek.  You've 
earned  it." 

"By  George,  yes !  If  it  hadn't  been  for  you  there'd  have 
been  a  beastly  grind  on  us  in  there." 

"Open  it,  open  it,  old  man !" 

Mathewson  seized  one  of  the  books  and  opened  it. 
Unkind  trick  of  fate !  The  leaves  parted  at  exactly  the  page 
where  reposed,  in  all  its  cutting  irony, — in  all  its  sardonic 
glee, — the  "grind"  on  the  Freshman  class! 

The  plate  had  been  engraved  in  New  York  and  the  sketch 
from  which  it  was  made  sent  afterwards  to  the  Sophomore 
class,  merely  as  a  souvenir  of  their  triumph. 

The  roomful  of  faces  melted  quietly  away.  The  class 
hero  sank  heavily  back  on  the  pillows  with  a  pain  in  his  ribs. 


IN  THE  PRESIDENT'S  ROOM 

Henry  S.  Webster,  '67 


IN  THE  PRESIDENPS  ROOM 

TOWARD  the  close  of  a  September  day  in  the  year 
1864,  a  crowd  of  students  was  collected  on  the  Bow- 
doin  campus  near  the  Thorndike  oak.  Each  class  was  not 
only  represented,  but  present  almost  in  its  entirety ;  still,  as 
the  college  at  that  time  bore  upon  its  rolls  only  about  a 
hundred  names,  the  reader  is  not  to  imag-ine  the  assembly 
as  one  of  remarkable  proportions.  The  several  classes, 
without  being  grouped  as  separate  bodies,  were  in  a  measure 
distinct,  as  if  their  members  were  drawn  toe:ether  by  com- 
munity of  sentiment  or  interest.  The  center,  of  the  throng 
was  composed  mainly  of  Sophomores  who,  to  the  melody 
of  tin  horns,  devil's  fiddles  and  watchmen's  rattles,  from 
time  to  time  added  vocal  effects  scarcely  less  loud  and  dis- 
cordant. Next  to  them  stood  the  open-eyed  Freshmen, 
eagerly  appreciative  of  the  novelty  of  the  scene ;  while  most 
of  the  upper-class  men  were  ranged  along  the  outer  edge  or 
a  little  apart,  and  were  endeavoring  to  preserve  looks  and 
attitudes  of  aloofness  and  indifference. 

The  object  of  attraction  appeared  to  be  a  tall,  spare  man 
who  was  standing  upon  a  rude  plank-and-barrel  rostrum, 
and,  whenever  the  uproar  would  permit,  launching  his 
remarks  in  a  violent  manner  at  the  bystanders.  He  was 
apparently  some  sixty  years  of  age.  His  head  was  uncov- 
ered, showing  his  hair  thin  and  streaked  with  gray.  His 
face  was  smooth  except  for  a  stubbly  two  days'  growth  of 
beard,  and  was  wrinkled  and  browned  by  exposure  to  the 
weather.     Beside  him  upon  the  platform  rested  a  dilapi- 

127 


tai:,e:s  of  bowdoin 

dated  silk  hat  which,  as  well  as  his  suit  of  rusty  black, 
looked  as  if  it  might  have  been  discarded  some  years  before 
by  its  former  owner.  They  were  not,  however,  incongruous 
with  the  rest  of  his  attire,  since  both  his  dickey  above  and 
his  shirt  below  his  black  stock  bore  the  same  signs  of  pov- 
erty and  neglect. 

I  had  been  engaged  that  afternoon  on  a  delicate  mission. 
A  pailful  of  water,  designed  for  the  discipline  of  some 
offending  Freshman,  had  been  precipitated  by  mistake  upon 
the  head  of  our  Latin  professor,  and  I  had  been  delegated 
by  my  classmates  to  explain  to  our  venerable  instructor  just 
how  the  untoward  event  had  happened.  The  interview  was 
a  protracted  one,  and  the  admonitions  which  I  then  received 
have  probably  had  a  marked  effect  in  forming  my  character. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  I  was  late  in  my  arrival  at  the  scene  on 
the  campus  and  in  consequence  heard  only  the  conclusion 
of  the  speaker's  harangue. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  was  saying  as  I  approached,  "what  do 
we  mean  when  w^e  say  that  a  man  is  'some  pumpkins'  ?  We 
mean  that  he  is  full  of  ideas  just  as  a  pumpkin  is  full  of 
seeds.  What  do  we  mean  when  we  say  that  he  is  a  *brick'  ? 
Why,  a  brick  is  part  of  a  building.  Let  us  now  consider 
the  attraction  of  gravitation,  that  mysterious  force  which 
binds  together  atoms  and  worlds,  princes  and  parallelo- 
grams, cones,  pyramids  and  the  Sphinx.  A  traveler  is 
lost  on  a  Western  prairie.  He  has  wandered  all  day,  far 
from  home  and  with  nothing  to  eat.  Night  comes  on.  The 
wolves  begin  to  howl  in  the  darkness.  At  last  he  reaches  a 
log  cabin,  almost  in  ruins.  No  matter,  it  will  afford  him 
shelter  for  the  night.  Scarcely  has  he  entered  and  com- 
posed himself  to  rest  when  a  violent  storm  arises.  Thun- 
ders roar.  Lightnings  flash.  The  snow  heaps  against  the 
door.     It   grows   bitterly   cold.     What   shall   he   do?     He 

128 


IN  the;  preside;nt  s  room 

can't  stay  there  and  freeze  to  death.  Let  me  illustrate. 
Two  darkies,  walking  down  Broadway,  saw  a  quarter  of  a 
dollar  on  the  sidewalk.  One  of  the  colored  grentlemen  said 
to  his  companion,  'Sambo,  don't  you  freeze  to  dat  quarter. 
I  seed  it  first.'  That  is  just  the  idea.  He  can't  stay  there 
and  freeze.  His  soul — but  what  do  we  know  about  the 
soul?  Is  it  homogeneous  or  heterogeneous?  Who  can 
tell?  Who  except  me,  Daniel  Pratt,  the  Great  American 
Traveler,  and  soon  to  be  President  of  the  United  States? 
Why  not?  Was  not  imperial  Rome  once  saved  by  the 
cackling  of  a  goose?" 

The  applause,  by  which  the  orator  had  been  frequently 
interrupted,  at  this  point  became  so  vociferous  and  long 
continued  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  proceed.  He 
at  last  desisted  from  his  attempts  to  do  so  and  descended 
from  the  platform.  He  had  been  speaking  more  than  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour,  and  the  students,  tired  of  listening  to 
his  rambling  and  incoherent  remarks,  had  adopted  the  most 
efficacious  method  of  bringing  his  address  to  its  conclusion. 

The  chairman  of  the  meeting  had  been  taking  things  easy. 
After  introducing  the  speaker,  he  had  seated  himself  on  the 
edge  of  the  platform  and  lighted  his  long-stemmed  pipe. 
There  he  had  remained,  quietly  smoking,  with  his  feet 
dangling  over  the  side.  He  was  a  Junior  and  was  often 
pointed  out  as  the  most  popular  man  in  college.  As  he 
scrambled  to  his  feet,  one  of  his  classmates  shouted,  "Hi 
there !  Listen  to  the  red-headed  boy !"  His  rising  or  the 
impertinent  remark  was  the  signal  for  another  outburst  of 
applause ;  but  the  tumult  presently  subsided  and  he  spoke  as 
follows : 

"Fellow  students — for  I  shall  not  imitate  the  gross  flat- 
tery indulged  in  by  the  preceding  speaker  by.  addressing  you 
as  gentlemen — with  what  rapture  have  we  listened  to  the 
H  129 


TALKS    OF    BOWDOIN 

eloquence  of  our  distinguished  friend.  I  stand  not  here  to 
praise  him,  for  he  needs  no  encomium  of  mine.  Where  is 
the  man  who  has  not  heard  of  Daniel  Pratt  ?  Where  is  the 
child  that  is  not  taught  to  prattle  that  immortal  name? 
Where  is  the  'yagger,'  even,  so  ignorant  as  to  be  unac- 
quainted with  it?  North  and  South,  East  and  West  his 
fame  extends,  and  I  shall  not  waste  your  valuable  time  in 
efforts  to  gild  the  refined  gold  of  his  character  or  paint  the 
spotless  lily  of  his  reputation.  I  now  have  the  honor  to 
propose  this  remarkable  man  as  our  candidate  for  the  office 
of  President  of  the  United  States.  All  in  favor  of  such 
nomination  will  please  to  say  aye." 

Every  voice  responded,  "Aye!" 

"Those  opposed,"  resumed  the  chairman,  "will  also  say 
aye." 

Another  chorus  of  ayes  followed. 

"The  ayes  have  it,"  said  the  presiding  officer.  "It  is  a 
vote." 

Then  the  Junior  who  had  "roughed"  the  chairman  on  his 
red  hair,  in  a  jargon  invented  by  his  class  in  its  Sophomore 
year  called  for  "three-gee  chee-geers  for  Pre-gesident 
Pra-gatt."  They  were  given  with  a  will ;  and  after  it  was 
again  quiet,  the  chairman  again  begged  the  indulgence  of 
his  audience  for  a  few  minutes.  There  was  a  ceremony,  he 
said,  which  commonly  followed  their  candidate's  orations.  It 
might  be  considered  commemorative  of  the  passing  of  King 
Arthur,  for  it  was  knov/n  as  the  passing  of  the  hat.  At  the 
present  time  it  was  of  more  than  passing  importance.  Mr. 
Pratt  was  not  a  crafty  and  designing  politician.  He  was  a 
man  of  open  countenance,  but  his  countenance  was  no  more 
open  than  his  boots.  Should  they  compel  him  to  stand  upon 
their  platform  in  such  a  pair  of  boots  as  that?  Heaven 
forbid  1     Let  him  not  have  to  say  that  his  visit  to  Bowdoin 

130 


IN    THIS    PRDSIDEiNT  S   ROOM 

had  been  altogether  bootless.  Mr.  Pratt's  hat,  which  was 
already  passe,  would  presently  be  passed.  Let  the  results  of 
their  generosity,  in  the  language  of  their  esteemed  Prex,  "be 
adequate  to  the  exigencies  of  the  occasion."  Let  every  man 
now  search  his  pockets.  A  good  many  doubtless  would  find 
nothing  there,  but  such  would  be  expected  to  borrow  of  their 
chums.  That  v/as  the  course  which  he  himself  intended  to 
adopt.  One  suggestion,  not  altogether  impertinent.  Mr. 
Pratt's  clothes  were  somewhat  the  worse  for  wear,  but  they 
possessed  their  full  complement  of  buttons.  The  hat  would 
now  be  moved  among  the  audience,  and  it  was  hoped  that 
the  audience  would  be  moved  to  fill  the  hat.  During  the 
ceremony,  Mr.  Pratt  would  repeat  one  of  his  poetic  gems. 
It  was  already  familiar  to  them,  well  worn  as  a  gem  always 
should  be,  but  one  which  they  never  tired  of  hearing,  as  they 
would  admit  on  being  informed  that  it  was  the  one  begin- 
ning with  the  lines,  "Sound,  sound  the  ponderous  hugagl 
Great  Daniel  Pratt  appears!" 

Daniel  Pratt,  who  has  now  been  introduced  to  the  reader's 
notice,  was  well  known  to  the  college  student  of  thirty  or 
forty  years  ago.  He  was  a  half-demented  but  harmless 
vagrant  whose  time  was  spent  in  wandering  from  place 
to  place  and  delivering  his  lectures,  as  he  termed  them, 
w^herever  he  could  find  anyone  willing  to  listen  to  him.  He 
still  retained  some  traces  of  good  birth  and  breeding.  It 
was  his  especial  delight  to  visit  college  towns  and  address 
the  students.  Some  of  his  college  acquaintances  had  com- 
posed for  him  pieces  of  doggerel,  often  expressing  senti- 
ments uncomplimentary  to  himself,  which  he  had  committed 
to  memory  and  was  accustomed  to  recite  at  the  conclusion 
of  his  lectures.  The  character  of  the  latter  may  be  fairly 
judged  from  the  specimen  given  above,  which  is  largely 
reproduced  from  memory.     The  conferring  of  a  degree,  or 

131 


TAI,ES    OF    BOWDOIN 

his  nomination  as  a  Presidential  candidate,  was  a  staple  part 
of  the  fun  which  the  students  were  accustomed  to  have  with 
him  when  he  honored  them  with  his  presence.  He  died 
some  years  ago  at  an  almshouse  in  some  part  of  New 
England, 

On  this  particular  occasion,  the  liberality  of  his  audience 
corresponded  with  the  appeal  which  had  been  made  in  his 
behalf.  With  his  pockets  well  replenished  with  scrip — coin 
of  all  kinds  was  then  in  hiding — Daniel,  at  the  head  of  a 
procession  composed  of  the  greater  part  of  his  auditors, 
was  noisily  escorted  to  a  boot  and  shoe  store  far  down 
Maine  street.  There  the  vagrant's  ragged  foot-wear  was 
replaced  by  a  serviceable  pair  of  cowhides.  After  a  sub- 
stantial meal  at  the  railroad  restaurant,  he  was  reconducted 
to  the  college  grounds.  It  being  now  dark,  his  disposal  for 
the  night  became  a  matter  of  serious  consideration.  The 
problem,  however,  was  finally  solved ;  for  at  a  timely  hour 
he  was  taken  to  a  dormitory  room  which,  although  destitute 
of  a  bed,  contained,  in  addition  to  its  furnishings  of  desk, 
table  and  chairs,  a  comfortable  lounge  which  promised  a 
luxurious  night's  repose  for  his  weary  limbs. 

Now  the  room  selected  by  the  students  for  the  entertain- 
ment of  their  guest  was  known  as  the  President's  Room.  It 
was  situated  on  the  second  floor  of  Appleton  Hall  at  the 
northeast  corner.  It  was  occupied  in  the  daytime  by  the 
head  of  the  college  as  occasion  required,  his  residence  being 
at  a  considerable  distance  from  the  campus,  near  the  lower 
end  of  Federal  street.  Some  Sophomores  had  unlocked  the 
door  by  means  of  a  false  key,  and  had  carefullv  locked  it 
again  as  soon  as  they  had  seen  their  visitor  comfortably  fixed 
for  the  night. 

The  tramp  was  tired  out  with  his  day's  travel  and  exer- 
tion, he  had  partaken  of  a  hearty  meal,  and  as  a  combined 

132 


IN  the:  presidents  room 

result  of  fatigue  and  fullness  he  slept  late  into  the  next  fore- 
noon. He  was  awakened  at  last  by  the  turning  of  the  Pres- 
ident's key  in  the  lock.  That  functionary,  on  entering  the 
room,  was  astonished  at  the  sight  of  a  human  figure  seated 
on  his  lounge.  Nor  did  the  appearance  of  the  stranger 
reconcile  him  to  the  unexpected  event.  The  President  was 
an  urbane  man,  but  a  shade  of  annoyance  was  perceptible  in 
his  rolling,  sonorous  voice  as  he  spoke,  albeit  his  perturba- 
tion of  mind  did  not  detract  from  the  accustomed  stateliness 
of  his  style. 

"My  dear  sir,"  he  said,  "by  what  surreptitious  means  you 
gained  access  to  this  apartment  I  know  not ;  but  I  must  take 
the  liberty  to  inform  you  that  it  is  designed  for  my  personal 
convenience,  and  not  as  a  harborage  for  vagabonds." 

The  vagrant  looked  intently  at  the  President,  and  the  eyes 
of  the  latter  fell  before  his  gaze.  Heaven  had  vouchsafed 
to  the  poor  lunatic  a  brief  respite  from  the  tangled  web  of 
thought  m  which  his  mind  was  ordinarily  involved.  An 
expression  of  manliness  and  of  suffering  had  transformed 
his  face,  and  his  voice  was  tremulous  with  emotion  as  he 
replied  to  his  interlocutor,  who  in  the  meantime  had  sunk 
into  a  chair  and  was  leaning  his  head  upon  his  hand. 

"Vagabond?"  repeated  the  outcast.  "Yes,  I  am  a  vaga- 
bond. You  do  right  to  call  me  by  that  name.  I  am  a 
vagabond,  a  wanderer  to  and  fro  upon  the  face  of  the  earth, 
penniless,  friendless,  homeless,  O  God!  Men  shun  me. 
Boys  mock  me  and  use  me  for  their  sport.  All  hope  is 
gone,  all  aim  in  life  wasted  or  thrown  away.  Perhaps  I 
had  as  fair  a  start  as  you.  When  I  was  young,  I  was  fond 
of-  reading,  I  had  a  good  memory,  I  was  apt  at  my  lessons. 
My  parents  were  proud  of  me,  my  teachers  praised  me,  my 
playmates  liked  me  and  sought  my  company.  How  did  I 
fall  so  low  ?     The  old,  old  story !     Reckless  associates,  sdf- 

133 


TAI^ES    OF    BOWDOIN 

indulgence,  disgrace,  crime,  then  banishment  from  decent 
society,  and  at  last  poverty,  misery  and  a  distracted  mind. 
Once  in  a  while  the  darkness  lifts:  the  sunshine  of  reason 
makes  a  rift  in  the  clouds.  O  the  anguish,  the  terrible, 
terrible  despair  of  those  moments !  When  insanity  begins 
again  to  benumb  my  faculties,  how  I  welcome  its  approach  1 
There  at  least  is  forgetfulness — forgetfulness  of  the  past 
and  of  the  present.  Such  is  the  story  of  my  life.  With 
you,  Mr.  President,  how  different!  You  have  made  the 
most  of  your  powers,  both  of  body  and  of  mind.  You  have 
been  always  wise,  always  prudent,  always  helpful  to  your 
fellow-men,  always  solicitous  for  the  good  of  humanity. 
The  young  men  whom  it  has  been  your  duty  and  privilege 
to  instruct  have  found  in  you  a  guide,  a  friend,  a  father, 
one  in  whom  they  could  confide  and  to  whom  they  could 
look  for  counsel.  So  now,  when  we  are  both  nearing  the 
end  of  life,  you  are  contented,  self-satisfied,  tranquil  in  mind, 
a  stranger  to  remorse,  while  I  am — what  I  am !" 

The  vagrant  stopped.  The  light  faded  from  his  eyes. 
He  had  relapsed  into  his  former  self.  Approaching  the 
President,  wliose  head  had  now  sunk  upon  his  arm,  he 
touched  him  familiarly  on  the  shoulder  and  said  in  his  old 
sharp  voice,  "Cheer  up,  old  man!  I  harbor  no  grudges. 
When  I  am  President,  would  you  like  to  be  minister  or 
consul?  London?  St.  Petersburg?  Constantinople?  You 
have  not  long  to  wait.  The  hour  of  my  glory  is  about  to 
dawn. 

"Let  Shakespeare  go  behind  the  door, 
Let  Milton  show  his  head  no  more, 
Bid  Pope  and  Byron  leave  the  room 
And  give  the  American  Traveler  room." 

Before  the  end  of  his  speech  he  had  left  the  apartment 
and  his  new  boots  could  be  heard  clamping  down  the  stairs. 

134 


IN  the:  presidents  room 

For  a  long  time  the  President  sat  with  his  head  resting 
on  his  arms.  What  thoughts  surged  through  his  brain. 
Wasted  opportunities  ?  They  crowded  in  myriads  upon  his 
mental  vision.  He  recalled  the  bright  promise  of  his  youth, 
the  hopes  and  prophecies  of  his  friends  and  classmates.  He 
remembered  his  visit  to  the  Old  World  and  the  plans, 
aspirations  and  resolves  which  the  sight  of  its  treasures  had 
awakened  in  his  soul.  He  pictured  himself  again  in  Rome 
and  conversing  in  Latin  with  the  Holy  Father,  with  the 
proud  consciousness  of  equalling  that  dignitary  in  the  cor- 
rectness, fluency  and  elegance  of  his  speech.  Through  what 
avenue  had  the  poison  entered  his  soul,  the  distrust  in  his 
own  reason,  the  doubt  whether  it  is  worth  while  to  contend 
for  absolute  truth  and  right,  the  indolence  of  thought  which 
leads  one  to  submit  to  the  tyranny  of  custom,  to  renounce 
his  ideals,  to  become  the  slave  of  use  and  precedent?  He 
had  assumed  the  presidency  of  Bowdoin  in  the  vigor  of  his 
young  manhood.  His  inaugural  had  entranced  his  hearers 
and  had  elicited  praise  from  the  coldest  and  most  severe  of 
critics.  But  it  had  been  his  high-water  mark.  Never  again 
did  he  reach  so  high  a  level.  Consciousness  of  ability  was 
not  wanting,  but  a  fatal  paralysis  seemed  to  have  benumbed 
his  will.  How,  too,  had  he  performed  the  duties  devolving 
on  him.  as  head  of  the  college?  Had  it  not  been  in  a  per- 
functory way,  without  a  due  appreciation  of  his  responsi- 
bilities, if  not  with  a  wanton  disregard  of  the  preciousness 
and  needs  of  the  young  souls  entrusted  to  his  charge  ?  Had 
he  given  them  the  help,  the  sympathy,  the  encouragement 
which  it  was  their  right  to  expect?  Had  he  exemplified  to 
them,  the  ripe  and  cultured  scholar  in  his  beneficent  influence 
upon  the  spirit  and  institutions  of  his  countrv  and  his  age? 
Had  he  so  drawn  them  to  himself,  so  won  their  affection 
and  esteem,  that  he  would  be  to  them  through  their  Hves  a 

135 


tai,e:s  of  bowdoin 

never  failing  source  of  inspiration,  courage  and  enthusiasm? 
Alas!  he  was  now  an  old  man.  No  longer  was  it  in  his 
power  to  redeem  the  past  or  to  atone  for  its  errors.  The 
characters  w^hich  he  had  inscribed  on  the  pages  of  his  life 
must  remain  as  they  were  written.  He  could  only  hope  that 
Time,  the  all-destroyer,  might  blot  them  from  remembrance, 
and  that  the  recollection  of  them  might  not  haunt  him  in  the 
grave  whither  he  was  hastening.  To  whom  of  us,  in  hours 
of  solitary  reflection,  do  not  thoughts  equally  bitter  and 
despairing  come ! 

How  far  the  President's  future  career  was  changed  or  his 
character  ennobled  by  that  hour's  meditation  may  not  be 
told.  The  effect  of  spiritual  experiences  cannot  be  traced 
and  noted  with  the  same  accuracy  as  the  influence  of  the 
magnetic  current  or  the  results  of  chemical  reaction.  I  only 
know  that  there  was  an  especial  fervor  in  his  voice  and  an 
unwonted  simplicity  in  his  speech  as  he  said  to  us  in  chapel 
that  evening: 

"If  I  were  to  give  a  young  man  the  best  counsel  which  it 
is  in  my  power  to  utter,  distilling  into  a  few  words  all  my 
past  lessons  and  experience,  I  would  say  to  him.  Be  true, 
be  earnest,  be  self-reliant :  have  faith  in  God.  have  faith  also 
in  yourself;  avoid  the  sins  of  sloth,  idleness  and  indiffer- 
ence; keep  every  fiber  of  your  being  responsive  to  the 
claims  of  duty,  to  the  needs  of  humanity,  to  the  prompt- 
ings of  what  is  best  and  noblest  in  your  soul;  then,  as 
you  draw  near  the  evening  of  your  days,  you  will  not 
stand  at  the  bar  of  your  conscience  with  ypur  original  gifts 
wrapped  in  the  napkin  of  an  easeful  and  inglorious  life ;  but, 
glorying  in  their  more  than  ten-fold  increase,  you  may  with 
assurance  await  those  words  of  approval  and  reward,  'Well 
done,  good  and  faithful  servant,  I  will  make  thee  ruler  over 
many  things :  enter  thou  into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord.'  " 

136 


THE  STORY  OF  A 

BOWDOIN  STORY-TELLER 

WiLMOT   B.   MlTCHEI,!,,    '90 


THE  STORY  Or  3  BOWDOIN  STORY-TELLER 

6ilT  was  a  sad  day  for  the  Children  of  Israel  when  there 
I  arose  a  king  in  Egypt  that  knew  not  Joseph.  It  will 
be  a  sad  day  for  Bowdoin  College  when  there  arises  a  gen- 
eration of  students  that  know  not  Elijah  Kellogg."  Thus 
it  was,  I  recall,  that  one  Sunday  afternoon  in  my  Senior 
year,  President  Hyde  introduced  to  the  students  of  Bowdoin 
a  little,  bent,  bronzed  old  man  who  spoke  to  us  with  sim- 
plicity and  eloquence  of  spiritual  blindness.  "A  man  of 
small  body  and  large  soul,"  said  one  of  the  fellows  after- 
wards,— an  impression  which,  I  think,  Mr.  Kellogg  made 
upon  us  all.  We  shall  see  this  whole-souled  man  upon  our 
campus  no  more,  but  he  will  speak  to  Bowdoin  students  for 
years  to  come.  For  although  he  held  no  colLge  office,  it 
goes  without  question  that  no  one  was  more  loved  by  Bow- 
doin men  than  he.  From  the  day  he  came  to  Brunswick, 
sixty-four  years  ago  last  autumn,  and  presented  himself,  as 
he  says,  "a  sedate  and  diffident  youth,  between  the  two  maple 
trees  that  relieved  the  monotony  of  this  arid  and  barren  col- 
lege yard,  and,  like  friendship  and  misfortune,  flung  their 
shadow  over  the  steps  of  Massachusetts  Hall,  and  sued  for 
admission  to  Bowdoin  College,"  even  to  the  day  when  the 
students  gathered  around  his  bier,  the  boys  have  felt  that  he 
was  their  friend,  a  man  after  their  own  heart. 

It  is  of  interest  to  go  back,  in  imagination,  to  that  autumn 
of  '36  and  see  the  young  college  with  this  young  man  at  its 
doors.  To  outward  view,  the  college  then  was  not  the  col- 
lege of  to-day.     There  was  not  the  grateful  shade  of  elm 

139 


TALIvS    O?    BOWDOIN 

and  maple;  there  was  no  King  Chapel  with  its  stately- 
spires  ;  no  granite  hall  memorial  of  war  and  sacrifice ;  no 
Searles  Science  Building  witnessing  that  "Nature's  laws  are 
God's  thoughts;"  no  Walker  Art  Building  teaching  that 
beauty  is  truth  and  truth  beauty.  On  the  "college  yard" 
not  more  than  one-fourth  the  size  of  the  present  campus 
there  were  only  five  buildings, — old  Massachusetts,  of 
course,  Winthrop,  Maine,  a  wooden  chapel  and  the  Presi- 
dent's house.  But  though  with  small  material  equipment, 
the  college  had  a  corps  of  instructors  of  sound  learning  and 
strong  personality.  There  was  the  "impassive,  inflexible 
Allen,"  soon  to  be  succeeded  by  the  affable  and  brilliant 
Woods.  There,  too,  were  the  "gentle  Newman,"  the  "mag- 
nificent and  massive  Cleaveland,"  the  "indomitable  and 
uncompromising  Smythe,"  the  precise  and  polished  Packard, 
the  "sensitive  and  saintly  Upham,"  the  accomplished  and 
gracious  Goodwin.  Into  these  surroundings  and  under 
these  benign  influences  came  young  Kellogg  of  Portland. 

Small  of  stature  but  strong,  sharp-eyed,  brown  and  wiry, 
we  can  well  imagine  him  on  that  October  day  when,  "with 
humility,"  as  he  says,  he  "requested  an  inhabitant  of  the 
village  to  point  out  the  President  of  the  college,"  and  he 
"gazed  upon  that  great  man  with  anxiety  and  solicitude 
inspired  by  the  belief  that"  his  "fate  and  that  of  his  com- 
panions lay  in  the  great  man's  clutches."  Though  the  son 
of  a  city  minister,  he  had  not  spent  his  twenty-three  years 
shut  up  in  a  parsonage.  He  knew  how  to  swing  the  scythe 
and  to  handle  the  "narrow  axe,"  knowledg-e  that  was  to 
stand  him  in  good  stead  in  after  years,  This  he  had  gained 
on  his  uncle's  farm  in  Gorham  where  his  mother  had  sent 
him  that  he  might  be  away  from  the  alluring  voices  of  the 
sea.  For  from,  early  boyhood  he  had  loved  the  water. 
When  but  a  youngster,  the  story  goes,  he  went  to  sail  in 

140 


THie    STORY    OP    A    BOWDOIN    STORY-TliLLE^R 

Back  Cove  with  a  sugar  box  for  a  boat  and  his  shirt  for  a 
sail  As  a  boy  he  was  never  so  happy  as  when  having 
stolen  to  Fore  Street,  he  could  listen  to  the  yarns  which  the 
old  sailors  spun.  On  one  occasion  this  pastime  brought  him 
to  grief.  One  Sabbath  morning  his  father  missed  him  from 
church,  and  when  about  noon  the  boy  returned  from  the 
wharves,  his  father  demanded  an  explanation  of  his 
absence  from  divine  service.  The  youngster  asserted  that 
he  had  attended  the  Methodist  church.  His  father,  doubt- 
ing his  word,  asked  him  to  give  the  text.  This  the  boy 
readily  did ;  and  then,  being  requested,  began  to  give  an  out- 
line of  the  sermon.  But  alas!  young  Elijah  had  been 
brought  up  on  doctrine  strictly  Congregational  and  knew 
not  the  tenets  of  John  Wesley.  When  he  was  about  two- 
thirds  of  the  way  through  and  imagined  he  was  doing 
bravely,  the  stern  preacher  gave  him  a  ringing  box  on  the 
ear  and  demanded  that  he  stop  his  lying;  no  Methodist 
minister  would  ever  preach  such  doctrine  as  that. 

Though  his  uncle's  farm,  upon  which  he  liked  to  work, 
was  some  distance  inland,  there  was  ever  resounding  in  his 
ears  the  irresistible  roar  of  the  ocean.  To  this  he  at  length 
yielded ;  but  after  a  year  or  two  of  life  upon  the  sea,  which 
to  his  last  hour  he  loved  much,  persuaded  by  his  mother  he 
fitted  in  his  father's  study  and  at  Gorham  Academy,  and 
sought  and  gained  admission  to  the  college. 

Young  Kellogg  came  from  good  stock.  In  him  English 
and  Scotch-Irish  met  and  mingled.  His  father,  Elijah,  at 
fourteen  was  a  drummer  boy  in  the  Continental  Army  at 
Bunker  Hill,  passed  through  the  terrible  winter  with  Wash- 
ington's army  at  Valley  Forge,  later  graduated  from  Dart- 
mouth College,  was  a  successful  missionary  to  the  Indians, 
a  trustee  of  our  college,  and  an  influential  preacher  in  Port- 
land.    His  mother,  Eunice,  was  a  woman  of  strong  and 

141 


TAI,e:S    0^    BOWDOIN 

resolute  will,  a  true-born  granddaughter  of  Hugh  and 
Elizabeth  McClellan,  those  early  settlers  of  Gorham,  who 
"risked  their  scalps  for  land" ;  who  indeed,  as  Mr.  Kellogg 
has  shown  us  in  "Good  Old  Times,"  braved  the  perils  of 
the  sea  and  the  savages  to  found  a  home  in  the  new  country. 
For  a  lad  with  such  strength  behind  him,  half  of  the  victory 
IS  already  won.     He  has  chosen  his  grandfathers  well. 

Here  at  Bowdoin  young  Kellogg  soon  became  a  popular 
member  of  the  Peucinian  society,  in  fact,  a  favorite  of  the 
whole  college ;  not  because  he  had  much  money  to  spend,  for 
he  was  to  a  great  extent  dependent  upon  his  own  resources. 
A  few  years  ago  he  said  somewhat  jokingly,  "I  worked  my 
way  through  college  with  a  narrow  axe,  and  when  I  was 
hard  up  for  money  I  used  to  set  the  college  fence  afire  and 
burn  it  up,  and  the  Treasurer  would  hire  me  to  build  another 
one.  Let  the  young  man  who  has  to  help  himself  thank 
God,  keep  his  powder  dry,  and  take  to  his  bosom  the  old 
motto :  'Per  angusta  ad  augusta.'  "  Popularity  at  Bow- 
doin then  as  now  depended  upon  something  more  to  be 
treasured  than  money.  "In  Kellogg's  social  life,"  writes 
one  of  his  college  mates,  "he  was  always  boiling  over  with 
good  humor ;  very  fluent  in  talk,  and  exceedingly  interesting 
as  a  conversationalist.  Indeed  as  a  whole,  Kellogg  was 
literally  sui  generis.^'  "He  was  universally  popular," 
writes  another,  a  classmate  of  his  in  both  academy  and  col- 
lege, "but  he  had  his  own  chosen  favorites,  and  one  charac- 
teristic of  him  was  his  strong  personal  affection  towards 
them.  His  soul  burned  with  love  for  those  whom  he  loved. 
This  was  the  secret  of  his  power  for  good,  for  his  influence 
upon  others  was  always  good."  And  still  another,  "I 
remember  him  as  companionable,  a  good  story-teller,  viva- 
cious and  even  playful.  No  one  would  have  guessed  that  he 
was  the  son  of  a  grave  minister  and  missionary." 

142 


TH^    STORY    01^    A    BOWDOIN    STORY-TE;I.I.E:r 

His  college  life,  I  judge,  was  not  always  as  the  Faculty  or 
his  parson  father  would  have  had  it.  Doubtless  from  early 
boyhood  he  was  a  pretty  wide-awake  youngster,  hardly 
willing  to  sit  in  his  father's  study  and  read  Bunyan's  "Holy 
War"  or  Pike's  "Persuasives  to  Early  Piety,"  two  books 
which  I  noticed  the  other  day  in  his  father's  library. 
"He  was  in  a  pickle  most  of  the  time"  is  the  way  his  niece, 
justly  proud  of  her  uncle  and  well-informed  in  family  tradi- 
tion, put  it.  Turn  such  a  lad  active,  daring,  resourceful, 
inventive,  full  of  fun  to  his  finger  tips,  into  the  college  as  it 
was  then,  with  but  little  baseball,  football  or  rowing  to  aid, 
as  he  said  once,  "the  germs  of  mischief  to  ooze  out  in  copious 
drops  of  perspiration,"  and  he  is  likely  to  occasion  more  or 
less  parental  solicitude  and  require  a  good  deal  of  Faculty 
surveillance.  If  young  Kellogg  really  played  one-third 
of  the  pranks  which  apocryphal  college  tradition  ascribes  to 
him,  even  his  resources  must  have  been  severely  taxed.  Let 
a  Bowdoin  student  to-day  climb  as  high  a  church  or  chapel 
spire  as  he  can,  Elijah  Kellogg,  he  finds,  went  several  rods 
higher.  For  every  gill  of  molasses  a  Sophomore  to-day 
pours  into  a  Freshman's  bed,  Elijah  Kellogg  poured  gallons. 
For  every  one  Freshman  whom  he  sends  to  the  President  to 
"make  up  chapel,"  Kellogg  sent  dozens.  Many  of  these 
traditions,  we  discover  as  soon  as  we  try  to  verify  them, 
are  only  Canterbury  tales,  but  there  are  then  enough  left  to 
save  his  reputation  as  a  practical  joker. 

During  his  Sophomore  year,  one  morning  as  the  students 
went  to  prayers,  they  saw  "Old  Gul's"  (short  for  President 
Guilielmus  Allen's)  hat,  a  big  open-work  afifair,  on  top  of  the 
chapel  steeple.  They  did  not  seize  upon  Kellogg  and  bear 
him  on  their  shoulders  triumphantly  into  chapel,  as  did 
'Ninety  when  Chandler  put  the  tall  hat  bearing  the  insignia 
of   Phi    Chi  on  top  of   the  lightning   rod;   "there  was  no 

143 


TAI,eS    OF    BOWDOIN 

doubt,"  however,  writes  one  of  his  classmates,  "that  Kellogg 
put  it  there,  for  no  one  else  had  the  daring  or  power  to  per- 
form such  a  feat,  but  I  do  not  remember  that  he  was  ever 
called  to  account  for  it." 

At  another  time  when  he  climbed  the  belfry  with  the 
intention  of  silencing  the  bell, — an  intention  which  in  these 
days  would  have  seemed  laudable,  for  it  called  the  students 
out  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning, — ^as  he  thrust  his  head 
into  the  bell-tower.  President  Allen's  hired  man  was  there 
to  seize  him  by  the  hair.  What  penalty  was  meted  out  to 
him  Mr.  Kellogg  did  not  mention  when  in  after  years  he 
told  the  story  with  twinkling  eyes.  But  possibly  he  had 
not  got  entirely  over  his  chagrin  at  getting  caught,  when  a 
large  gander,  bonneted  in  a  Brunswick  woman's  green 
calash,  went  flying  through  an  open  window  of  the  Presi- 
dent's house,  much  to  the  horror  of  the  company  assembled 
there  at  an  evening  reception. 

A  story  often  told  concerning  Mr.  Kellogg  runs  as  fol- 
lows :  A  sign  had  been  stolen,  "swiped"  the  twentieth  cen- 
tury student  would  say,  and  the  men  in  Kellogg's  dormitory 
were  suspected.  Now  we  must  know  that  in  those  early 
days  students  were  not  allowed  to  do  their  own  sweet  will 
in  the  dormitories  but  were  carefully  watched  by  tutors  or 
"tutes."  According  to  the  regulations  a  tutor  was  not  to 
enter  a  student's  room  when  he  was  at  devotions.  In  this 
instance,  the  story  goes,  when  the  sign  was  almost  entirely 
consumed  in  Kellogg's  fireplace,  a  "tute"  approached  his 
room.  Receiving  no  response  to  his  knock,  he  listened  and 
heard  some  one  reading  the  Scriptures.  After  a  moment  or 
two  he  caught  these  words:  "And  he  answered  and  said 
unto  them,  an  evil  and  adulterous  generation  seeketh  after 
a  sign :  and  there  shall  no  sign  be  given  to  it." 

144 


thh:  story  of  a  bowdoin  story-teller 

Although  so  full  of  fun,  Kellogg  had  underneath  it  all  a 
pretty  serious  purpose.  He  was  never  lazy.  He  was 
always  ready  to  work  his  way.  Much  of  the  time  in  college 
he  boarded  with  Mrs.  Susan  Dunning  on  the  corner  of 
Maine  and  Noble  streets  just  in  front  of  where  Professor 
Robinson  now  lives;  and  he  paid  for  his  board  by  cutting 
wood.  He  was  proud  of  his  ability  to  use  an  axe ;  he  never 
tired  of  telling  that  the  size  of  his  chips  and  the  way  he  made! 
them  fly  showed  conclusively,  the  wood-cutters  thought,  that 
he  was  not  a  "colleger." 

It  was  while  working  for  this  good  woman  that  he  had 
the  great  satisfaction  of  seeing  President  Allen  laugh.  The 
well-sweep  was  broken  and  Kellogg  had  agreed  to  repair  it. 
As  the  snow  was  too  deep  to  take  the  cattle  out,  he  took  a 
sled  and  going  to  a  wood  lot  cut  a  big,  heavy  pole  such  as 
was  needed  for  one  of  those  old  well-sweeps.  "I  put  it  on 
the  sled  and  tried  to  haul  it,"  he  said,  "but  the  long  end 
dragging  in  the  deep  snow  made  that  impossible ;  so  instead 
of  hauling  it,  I  took  hold  of  the  end  and  started  pushing  it 
home.  It  was  hard  work,  and  to  make  matters  worse  whom 
should  I  meet  but  the  dignified  President  Allen.  'Well, 
Kellogg,'  he  said,  *I  have  heard  of  putting  the  cart  before 
the  horse  but  I  never  saw  it  done  before.'  Then  he  burst 
into  a  hearty  laugh,  and  that's  the  only  time  I  ever  saw  him 
ev^en  smile  in  all  the  years  I  knew  him." 

In  his  studies  he  by  no  means  stood  at  the  foot  of  his 
class.  Although  he  doubtless  liked  a  college  prank  better 
than  the  mysteries  of  Calculus,  he  was  appointed  to  take 
part  in  the  Junior  and  Senior  Exhibition  in  his  Junior  year, 
an  appointment  made  on  the  basis  of  rank.  He  enjoyed  the 
classics  exceedingly  and  was  even  at  this  time  a  good  writer. 
"He  was  strenuous  and  persistent  in  whatever  he  under- 
took," writes  a  college  mate.     "I  remember  when  he  was 


tai,e;s  o^  bowdoin 

composing  a  poem  or  preparing  an  essay,,  he  g^ave  his  whole 
soul  to  it;  his  demeanor  showed  that  he  was  absorbed  in  it 
and  absent-minded  to  everything  else,  until  that  one  thing 
was  done." 

During  his  Junior  year  he  was  one  of  the  editors  of  his 
society  paper,  and  it  was  about  that  work,  indeed,  that  he 
intended  to  write  a  story  for  this  very  volume.  "When  I 
was  editor,"  he  said,  "contributions  came  in  slowly,  so  I  had 
to  do  most  of  the  work  myself.  Well,  how  do  you  think  I 
managed  it  ?  Why,  in  this  way.  President  Allen  had  con- 
ceived the  idea  that  he  could  write  hymns ;  so  he  proceeded 
to  write  nearly  a  whole  volume  of  them.  You  can  find 
them  now  in  the  college  library.  And  four  of  the  Faculty 
thought  they  could  sing  and  withal  could  sing  the  Presi- 
dent's hymns,  which  they  tried  to  do  much  to  the  delectation 
of  the  students.  So  when  I  was  without  contributions  I 
used  to  fill  up  my  paper  with  parodies  of  those  hymns." 
And  then  the  old  man,  with  a  boyish  twinkle  in  his  eyes, 
only  a  month  before  his  death,  repeated  from  memory 
twenty  or  thirty  lines  of  one  of  those  parodies. 

Mr.  Kellogg's  close  connection  with  the  college  did  not 
end  with  his  graduation.  For  the  next  three  years  he  was 
at  Andover,  to  be  sure,  but  even  while  there  he  made  a  place 
for  himself  very  near  to  the  heart  of  all  school  and  college 
boys ;  for  it  was  at  Andover  that  he  wrote  those  matchless 
declamations,  "Spartacus  to  the  Gladiators"  and  "Regulus 
to  the  Carthaginians."  Even  more  than  Anthon, — the 
editor  of  that  famous  edition  of  the  classics  which  might 
well  be  called  centaur-like,  for  it  was  half  man  and  half 
"horse," — Mr.  Kellogg  won  the  gratitude  of  every  school 
and  college  boy.  What  school  boy  has  not  "met  upon  the 
arena  every  shape  of  man  or  beast  and  never  lowered  his 
arm?"     Surely  scores  of  our  graduates  have  deserved  the 

146 


the:    story    of    a    BOWDOIN    STORY-TEl.I.]eR 

name  of  *'Reg," — which  has  attached  itself  inseparably  to 
a  member  of  '87, — if  it  is  to  be  given  for  liking  to  declaim 
"Regulus  to  the  Carthaginians," — for  beginning  in  a  low, 
subdued  tone  and  standing  "calm  and  unmoved  as  the 
marble  wall,"  and  ending  with  gutteral  tones  and  in  a  fine 
frenzy  on  "Cut  as  he  would  have  carved  you.  Burn  deep 
as  his  curse." 

How  he  happened  to  write  "Spartacus"  he  used  to  like  to 
tell  to  college  boys.  In  the  rhetorical  exercises  at  the  sem- 
inary, each  student  was  required  to  speak  something  he  had 
written.  Afterward  he  was  criticised  by  the  class  and  then 
by  the  professor.  The  class  criticisms  were  sometimes 
pretty  pungent  and  those  by  the  professor,  though  just,  were 
always  searching.  Consequently  the  students  came  to  dread 
the  speaking.  "At  last  I  made  up  my  mind,"  said  Mr.  Rel- 
logg>  "that  I  would  try  to  get  something  so  unusual  and  so 
interesting  that  it  v/ould  hold  their  attention  too  closely  for 
them  to  think  about  criticisms.  Well,  I  wrote  'Spartacus.' 
When  I  began,  it  worked  just  as  I  had  expected.  They 
were  taken  by  surprise.  You  could  have  heard  a  pin  drop 
while  I  was  speaking  and  they  didn't  recover  till  after  I  had 
finished.  Then  when  Professor  Park  turned  to  the  stu- 
dents and  inquired:  'What  criticisms  have  you  to  offer, 
young  gentlemen  ?'  there  wasn't  one  of  them  had  a  word  to 
say;  for  they  were  all  thinking  of  the  piece  and  hadn't 
noticed  anything  else.  'Gentlemen,'  said  the  professor,  *we 
are  not  here  for  theological  disquisitions  nor  for  learned 
arguments,  but  these  exercises  are  purely  rhetorical,  and, 
gentlemen,  that  is  rhetoric'  Then  turning  to  me  he 
remarked :  'I  could  criticise  you,  Kellogg,  but  I  don't  know 
whether  it  would  do  you  good  or  harm ;  on  the  whole,  there- 
fore, I  think  1  will  say  nothing.'  So,"  said  the  old  man 
laughingly,  "I  got  out  of  it  pretty  easy  that  time." 

147 


TALES    OF    BOWDOIN 

From  Andover  to  keep  a  promise  made  in  his  undergrad- 
uate days  that  if  the  people  of  Harpswell  would  build  a 
church,  he  would  be  their  minister,  he  came  back  to  where  he 
saw  much  of  the  students.  Since  then,  with  the  exception  of 
the  ten  winters  he  was  in  Boston,  he  has  been  almost  under 
the  eaves  of  the  college. 

For  some  years  the  college  had  the  custom  of  sending 
men  whom  it  "rusticated"  to  stay  with  Mr.  Kellogg;  and 
doubtless  his  strong,  manly  character  brought  more  than 
one  boy  to  his  better  self.  That  his  treatment  of  these  boys 
was  not  exactly  that  of  Squeers,  this  instance  will  show. 
One  young  fellow  whom  the  college  sent  him  was  especially 
rebellious  at  first.  Through  cheap  story  papers  he  had 
become  cheek  by  jowl  with  Old  Sleuth  and  his  boon  com- 
panions, and  he  sought  to  emulate  them  by  carrying  a 
revolver  and  a  dirk  knife.  Mr.  Kellogg  told  him  that  as 
he  would  not  find  any  Indians  or  many  wild  beasts  down 
there,  he  had  better  surrender  his  weapons.  This  the  young 
man  did  after  much  reluctance.  During  the  first  day  Mr. 
Kellogg  left  him  to  himself,  as  he  was  inclined  to  sulk.  In 
the  evening  he  began  to  talk  to  the  boy  indifferently  at  first, 
afterwards  kindly.  All  the  time — lover-like — he  kept  edg- 
ing up  nearer  to  him  on  the  big  sofa  and  finally  in  his 
genuine,  whole-souled  way,  put  his  hand  affectionately  on 
the  lad's  shoulder.  To  such  treatment  the  young  fellow 
was  not  accustomed.  It  was  so  different  from  his  over- 
stern  father's  that  it  threw  him  entirely  off  his  guard.  He 
could  not  withstand  the  man's  kindly  interest  and  genuine 
manner.  His  rebellious  spirit  was  broken.  The  boy 
dreaded  his  father's  rebuke,  and  the  next  day,  unknown  to 
him,  Mr.  Kellogg  wrote  to  his  mother  telling  all  about  her 
son  and  urging  that  the  father  write  to  him  kindly  and  not 

148 


the:    story    of    a    BOWDOIN    STORY-TKIwI^ER 

sternly.  A  few  days  after  this  the  youn^  fellow  was  sur- 
prised and  delighted  to  receive  from  home  a  letter  of  for- 
giveness and  encouragement. 

On  July  fourth  there  was  to  be  a  celebration  in  Portland. 
The  boy  wished  but  did  not  expect  to  ^o.  "Well,"  said 
Mr.  Kellogg  one  dav  after  they  had  been  speaking  of  the 
matter,  "I  am  afraid  you  can't  go.  I  have  no  authority  to 
let  you.  But,  then,  I  really  want  to  attend  that  celebration 
myself  and  I  can't  be  expected  to  leave  you  at  home  alone." 
When  the  day  of  celebration  came  the  student  and  the 
preacher  could  have  been  seen  tramping  the  streets  of  Port- 
land, both,  I  have  no  doubt,  having  a  right  royal  good 
time. 

In  1852,  when  the  college  celebrated  its  semi-centennial, 
Mr.  Kellogg  was  asked  to  write  the  ode.  "I  didn't  know 
anything  about  it  beforehand,"  said  his  niece,  "but  I  was 
staying  with  Uncle  Elijah  then,  and  he  asked  me  to  attend 
the  celebration  with  him.  At  supper,  the  evening  before, 
he  said  to  his  housekeeper,  'Well,  Mary,  pour  me  a  Birch 
Island  cup  of  tea  to-night.'  Birch  Island  tea,  he  always 
said,  would  hold  up  an  egg.  After  supper  I  heard  him  in 
his  study  overhead  walking  back  and  forth  and  talking  to 
himself,  but  I  did  not  know  what  he  was  doing.  As  we 
rode  up  to  Brunswick  the  next  morning  he  seemed  much 
preoccupied  and  kept  mumbling  over  some  poetry,.  He  left 
me  at  my  cousin's  and  went  off,  as  I  afterwards  learned,  to 
the  office  of  Mr.  Griffin,  the  printer.  There  he  repeated  to 
him  the  ode,  and  just  before  it  was  time  to  sing  it,  the 
freshly  printed  slips  were  brought  in  and  distributed." 
That  Birch  Island  tea  did  not  drug  the  muse  the  following 
lines  will  show : 

149 


TAIvUS    OF    BOWDOIN 


•'From  waves  that  break  to  break  again, 
From  winds  that  die  to  gather  might, 

How  pleasant  on  the  stormy  main 
Appears  the  sailor's  native  height. 


But  sweeter  memories  cluster  here 

Than  ever  stirred  a  seaman's  breast. 
Than  e'er  provoked  his  grateful  tear, 

Or  wooed  the  mariner  to  rest. 

'Twas  here  our  life  of  life  began— 

The  spirit  felt  its  dormant  power; 
'Twas  here  the  child  became  the  man— 

The  opening  bud  became  a  flower. 

On  these  old  trees  each  nestling  leaf, 

The  murmur  of  yon  flowing  stream, 
Has  power  to  stir  a  buried  grief, 

Or  to  recall  some  youthful  dream. 

Each  path  that  skirts  the  tangled  wood, 

Or  winds  amidst  its  secret  maze. 
Worn  by  the  feet  of  those  we  loved, 

Brings  back  the  form  of  other  days. 

Of  those  whose  smile  was  heaven  to  thee, 

Whose  voice  a  richer  music  made 
Than  brooks  that  murmur  to  the  sea. 

Or  birds  that  warble  in  the  shade. 

Around  these  ancient  altar  flres 

We  cluster  with  a  joyous  heart, 
While  ardent  youth  and  hoary  sires 

Alike  sustain  a  grateful  part." 

Between  1865  and  1880  came  his  books ;  and  these  bound 
him  still  closer  to  the  college ;  for  in  his  "Whispering  Pine 
Series"  he  has  given  us  a  good  look  into  the  lives  of  the 
students  in  the  early  days  and  has  caught  in  the  amber  of 
his  story  many  Bowdoin  customs. 

He  pictures  vividly  to  us  the  early  Commencement,  when 
nearly  the  whole  District  of  Maine  seemed  to  keep  holiday. 
From  far  and  near  came  people  in  carryalls  and  stages,  on 
horseback,  in  packets  and  pleasure  boats,  to  join  in  the  col- 

150 


THE    STORY    OF    A    BOVVDOIN    STORY-TELLER 

lege  merrymaking.  Hundreds  of  carriages  bordered  the 
yard,  and  barns  and  sheds  were  filled  with  horses;  host- 
lers were  running  to  and  fro  sweating  and  swearing; 
and  every  house  was  crammed  with  people.  To  Com- 
mencement came  not  only  the  beauty,  wit  and  wisdom  of 
the  District  but  also  those  who  cared  little  for  art  or  learn- 
ing. With  dignified  officials,  sober  matrons,  and  gay  belles 
and  beaux  came  also  horse- jockeys,  wrestlers,  snake- 
charmers,  gamblers,  and  venders  of  every  sort.  The  college 
yard  was  dotted  with  booths  where  were  sold  gingerbread, 
pies,  egg-nog,  long-line  cigars,  beers  small,  and,  alas!  too 
often  for  good  order,  beers  large.  While  Seniors  in  the 
church  were  discoursing  on  "Immortality,"  jockeys  outside 
were  driving  sharp  trades  and  over-convivial  visitors  engag- 
ing in  free  fights. 

In  his  "Sophomores  of  Radcliflfe"  Mr.  Kellogg  tells  us  of 
the  Society  of  Olympian  Jove,  a  society  whose  customs  per- 
haps sprang  partly  from  the  author's  imagination  and  partly 
from  his  experience.  His  description  of  great  Jove  seated 
upon  his  majestic  throne,  under  a  triumphal  arch,  reminds 
us  of  the  council  chamber  in  Gomorrah  when_the  "ponderous 
gewgag"  was  brought  forth ;  or  of  a  coronation  in  the  pres- 
ent reign  of  King  Mike  when  canes  are  "sprung,"  and  cakes 
are  cut  under  clasped  hands.  In  those  days  the  initiate  was 
made  to  rush  through  the  pines  and  ford  the  dark  Acheron, 
and  was  carefully  taught  the  signals  of  distress;  signals 
which  James  Trafton,  with  work  unprepared,  the  morning 
after  his  initiation,  much  to  the  merriment  of  the  class,  pro- 
ceeded to  give  to  his  irritated  professor  by  squinting  at  him 
through  his  hand. 

Perhaps  the  most  interesting  of  the  Bowdoin  customs 
which  Mr.   Kellogg  describes  is  the  "Obsequies  of   Cal- 

151 


TALES    OF    BOWDOIN 

cuius."  This  custom  was  in  vogue  many  years,  and  a 
headstone  can  yet  be  seen  upon  the  campus  marking  the 
spot  where  the  sacred  ashes  w' ere  consigned  to  dust.  At  the 
end  of  Junior  year  when  CalcuUis  w^as  finished,  the  Junior 
class  gathered  in  the  mathematical  room  and  there  deposited 
their  copies  of  Calculus  in  a  coffin.  The  coffin  was  then 
■borne  sorrowfully  to  the  chapel,  w^here  amid  bitter  wailing 
and  copious  lachrymation  a  touching  eulogy  was  delivered. 
The  orator  was  wont  to  discourse  of  the  "gigantic  intellect 
of  the  deceased,  his  amazing  powers  of  abstraction,  his 
accuracy  of  expression,  his  undeviating  rectitude  of  con- 
duct," his  strict  observance  of  the  motto  that  "The  shortest 
distance  between  two  points  is  a  straight  line."  Then  came 
the  elegy  in  Latin,  after  which,  amid  the  grief-convulsed 
mourners,  the  coffin  was  placed  upon  a  vehicle  called  by  the 
vulgar  a  dump  cart,  and  the  noble  steed  Isosceles,  which 
"fed  upon  binomial  theorems,  parabolas  and  differentials, 
and  every  bone  of  v/hose  body  and  every  hair  of  whose  skin 
was  illustrative  of  either  acute  or  obtuse  angles,"  drew  the 
sacred  load  to  its  last  resting  place.  The  funeral  procession, 
consisting  of  the  college  band,  Bowdoin  Artillery,  the  eulo- 
gist and  the  elogist,  and  the  Freshtnan,  Sophomore  and 
Junior  classes,  moved  slowly  down  Park  Row  through  the 
principal  streets  of  the  village  to  the  rear  of  the  college  yard. 
Here  the  books  were  "placed  upon  the  funeral  pyre  and 
burned  with  sweet  odors,  the  solemn  strains  of  the  funeral 
dirge  mingling  with  the  crackling  of  flames. 

"Old  Calculus  has  screwed  us  hard, 

Has  screwed  us  hard  and  sore; 
I  would  he  had  a  worthy  bard 

To  sing  his  praises  more. 

Peace  to  thine  ashes,  Calculus, 

Peace  to  thy  much-tried  shade; 
Thy  weary  task  is  over  now, 

Thy  wandering  ghost  is  laid." 


the:    story    01?    A    BOWDOIN    STORY-TElylvER 

"The  ashes  were  collected,  placed  in  an  urn,  and  enclosed 
in  the  coffin.  A  salute  was  then  fired  bv  the  Bowdoin 
Artillery.  The  epitaph,  like  that  upon  the  gfrave  of  the 
three  hundred  who  fell  at  Thermopylae,  was  brief  but  full 
of  meaning,  having  on  the  tablet  at  the  head, 

CALCUI^US 

on  that  at  the  foot 

dx 

—  =  o." 

dy 

But  the  Whispering  Pine  books  were  written  for  other 
purposes  than  simply  to  depict  the  life  of  the  college  or  to 
let  us  into  the  escapades  of  the  students.  The  dictum 
that  "All  art  must  amuse"  did  not  go  far  enough  for  Mr. 
Kellogg.  With  all  his  fun  and  "frolic  temper"  he  was  too 
much  of  a  Puritan  to  make  amusement  the  chief  end  of  his 
writing.  His  books,  I  suppose,  must  belong:  to  the  hated 
purpose  stories,  if  to  such  belong  stories  written  with  the 
avowed  purpose  of  making  boys  more  robust  and  genuine 
and  manly,  of  giving  them  redder  blood  and  broader  chests 
and  larger  biceps,  and  at  the  same  time  making  them  hate 
gloss  and  chicanery  and  love  straightforward,  courageous, 
Christian  dealing.  So  imbued  was  the  author  with  this 
purpose  that  he  wrote  his  books,  as  he  expressed  it,  while 
upon  his  knees.  Often  at  first  he  felt  that  he  should  be 
preaching  rather  than  writing  stories ;  and  it  was  not  until 
letters  came  to  him  from  all  over  the  countrv  that  he  real- 
ized he  was  reaching  more  boys  with  his  pen  than  with  his 
voice.     But  though  written  with  a  purpose,  it  is  noticeable 

153 


TALKS    OF    BOWDOIN 

that  his  books  are  not  of  the  wishy-washy  type.  His  boys 
are  not  Miss  Nancies  and  plaster  saints.  They,  do  not  die 
young  and  go  to  heaven;  they  live  and  make  pretty  com- 
panionable kind  of  men.  Mr.  Kellogg  was  too  much  of  a 
story-teller  and  too  strong  a  believer  in  truth  to  distort  life 
for  ethical  purposes. 

One  does  not  have  to  delve  deep  to  find  the  lessons  which 
he  would  teach.  Choose  your  chums  well,  is  his  advice 
to  college  boys.  College  is  not  simply  a  place  where  learn- 
ing is  bought  and  sold,  where  you  pay  so  much  money  and 
get  so  much  Greek  or  so  much  philosophy.  It  is  more  than 
that.  Not  all  college  lessons  are  in  your  books,  neither  are 
they  all  taught  in  the  class-rooms.  You  will  learn  them  on 
the  college  paths,  in  your  sports,  in  your  dormitories;  and 
generally  it  is  your  chums  that  teach  them  to  you.  The 
set  of  fellows  with  whom  you  cast  your  lot  may  make  or 
mar  you.  College  ties  are  strong.  The  boys  with  whom 
you  eat  and  sleep:  those  with  whom  you  solve  the  difficult 
problems  and  pick  out  the  tangles  in  Greek  and  Latin,  with 
whom  you  stroll  of  an  evening  to  the  falls  or  a  Wednesday 
afternoon  to  the  shore,  to  whom  you  tell  your  future  plans, 
your  love  afi'airs,  and  your  religious  doubts,  whose  sym- 
pathies mingle  v/ith  yours  *'like  the  interlacing  of  green, 
summer  foliage,"  those  fellows  are  going  to  mould  your 
ideals  and  determine  your  character. 

Again,  he  believed  that  boys  must  not  be  afraid  to  lock 
horns  with  an  obstacle.  A  difficult  job  may  be  their  great- 
est blessing.  Richardson  coddled  at  home  felt  himself  a 
weakling  by  the  side  of  Morton  whom  difficulties  had  made 
self-reliant.  "Hardship  is  a  wholesome  stimulant  to 
strong  natures,  quickening  slumbering  energies,  com- 
pelling effort,  and  by  its  salutary  discipline  reducing  refrac- 

154 


THIt    STORY    01*    A    BOWDOIN    STORY-TELLER 

tory  elements."  The  boy  who  is  always  dodging  difficulties 
will  make  a  gingerbread  man.  Only  by  grappling  can  we 
gain  power  to  achieve.  Only  by  having  tough  junks  to 
split  can  we  learn  to  "strike  right  in  the  middle  of  the 
knot." 

The  value  and  dignity  of  labor  is  the  ever  recurring  bur- 
den of  these  stories.  Mr.  Kellogg  believed  with  Carlyle 
that  all  work  is  divine,  that  to  labor  is  to  pray.  Especially 
did  he  wish  to  get  out  of  boys'  minds  the  false  notion  that 
only  mental  work  is  honorable.  He  thought  that  often  it 
is  as  honorable  to  sweat  the  body  as  to  sweat  the  brain.  As 
honorable  and  as  necessary;  for  he  believed  that  it  is  only 
by  keeping  the  lungs  full  of  fresh  air,  and  the  pores  open 
by  perspiration,  and  the  limbs  strong  by  activity,  that  a  man 
can  keep  his  vision  from,  being  distorted.  "The  essence 
of  hoe  handle,  if  persistently  taken  two  hours  a  day,"  would, 
he  believed,  cure  many  diseases  of  the  mind  and  heart. 
The  devils  of  fretfulness  and  faultfinding  are  not  always  to 
be  cast  out  simply  by  prayer  and  fasting.  Often  it  requires 
labor  in  the  fresh  open  air, — a  good  pull  against  the  tide,  a 
long  ride  on  horseback,  or  an  hour's  chopping  with  the  nar- 
row axe.  Many  a  disheartened  preacher  who  now  mopes 
in  his  study  and  who  "takes  all  his  texts  out  of  Jeremiah," 
would  get  "Sunday's  harness-marks  erased  from  the  brain," 
and  preach  glad  tidings  of  great  joy,  if  he  would  only  start 
the  perspiration  by  healthful  outdoor  exercise.  Mr.  Kellogg 
thought  a  boy  should  learn  to  work  with  his  hands  as  well 
as  with  his  brain ;  to  look  at  things  from  a  farmer's  point  of 
view  as  well  as  from  a  scholar's.  All  learning,  he  knew 
well,  is  not  in  school  and  college.  He  appreciated  the 
value  of  book-learning,  but  democrat  as  he  was  and  well 
acquainted  with  common  people,  he  knew  that  an  illiterate 

155 


TALES    OF    BOWDOIN 

Jerry  William  or  an  Uncle  Tim  Longley  can  teach  scores  of 
valuable  lessons  to  many  a  schoolman.  The  boy  who  is 
too  lazy,  does  not  know,  or  does  not  want  to  know,  how  to 
do  some  of  the  practical  duties  of  life,  who  thinks  it  disgrace- 
ful to  work  with  his  hands,  can  have  no  part  or  lot  in  his 
kingdom.  His  ideal  college  boy  is  Henry  Morton,  who 
is  a  keen  debater,  a  good  writer,  a  lover  of  the  classics  and 
a  lOver.  of  nature  but  at  the  same  time  a  man  who  can  hew 
straight  to  the  line,  cut  the  corners  of  many  a  farmer,  and 
take  the  heart  of  a  tree  from  more  than  one  woodsman. 

This,  I  take  it,  is  the  prime  lesson  that  he  wished  the 
hearty,  robust  lads  that  live  in  his  books  to  teach  to  us,  and 
it  is  the  doctrine  that  Mr.  Kellogg  lived  as  well  as 
preached.  When  in  Boston  at  the  Seaman's  Bethel,  he  was 
often  found  in  his  blue  overalls  down  on  the  wharves  at 
work  with  the  sailors;  and  for  the  fifty  years  he  has 
preached  in  Harpswell  he  has  lived  in  a  house  whose  timbers 
he  cut  and  hauled  himself.  There  on  his  farm  he  has  him- 
self cared  for  his  cattle,  sowed  his  seed  and  harvested  his 
crops.  Book  and  pen,  boat,  scythe  and  hoe,  all  have  been 
his  ready  servants  in  doing  God's  work.  One  Sabbath  some 
years  ago  at  the  close  of  his  sermon  he  said:  "Widow 
Jones's  grass  I  see  needs  mowing.  I  shall  be  there  with 
my  scythe  tomorrow  at  half  past  four.  I  shall  be  glad  to 
see  all  of  you  there  who  wish  to  come  and  help  me." 

Almost  any  day's  record  taken  from  Mr.  Kellogg's  jour- 
nal, which  I  have  recently  had  the  privilege  of  reading, 
shows  how  beautifully  prayer  and  deed  were  intermingled 
in  his  life ;  how  hand,  as  well  as  heart  and  brain,  was  made 
to  do  its  part. 

"Friday,  September  29,  1887.  Rose  early^  prayed  and 
gave  thanks.     Hauled  in  the  forenoon  all  the  rocks  required. 

156 


^r. 


^^^^p^,Xj^££ip^<^, 


THE    STORY    OF    A    BOWDOIN    STORY-TELLER 

Mr.  Getchell  finished  at  noon.  In  the  afternoon  I  took  him 
to  Brunswick,  paid  him,  got  my  lime  and  sand  and  got  home 
by  dark.  I  have  knelt  down  beside  the  wall  that  is  now 
finished  and  humbly  thanked  God  for  doing-  this  kindness 
to  me,  for  He  has  done  it.  Blessed  be  God  for  the  mercies 
of  this  day." 

"Tuesday,  October  25,  1887.  Rose  early.  Prayed  at  the 
hearthstone  and  the  threshold.  John  came.  We  sawed,  split 
and  hauled  the  wood.  The  old  house  windows  surprised 
John.  We  then  prepared  for  horses,  and  at  noon  John  went 
home.  Though  pressed  with  work,  I  felt  prompted  to  go  to 
the  burnt  tree  and  went  to  that  and  to  the  old  maple  and 
thanked  God  and  prayed  for  little  Frank.  Made  my  fires 
and  the  company  began  to  come.  They  poured  in  with 
full  hands  and  warm  hearts  to  the  number  of  eighty  or 
more.  Surely  God's  dealing  with  me  in  most  unthought-of 
ways.  Glory  to  God  for  the  mercies  of  the  twenty-fifth  of 
October." 

Seven  years  ago  when  Mr.  Kellogg's  Alma  Mater  cele- 
brated her  one  hundredth  birthday,  from  sea  and  shore  her 
children  gathered  again  around  her  knees.  She  was  proud 
to  welcome  back  her  sons  who  had  achieved  success  in  art 
and  letters,  in  medicine,  theology,  education  and  statesman- 
ship. As  one  after  another  of  these  successful  men  arose  to 
speak  he  was  applauded  generously;  but  when  this  little 
farmer-preacher  stood  up  to  address  them,  this  crowd  of 
Bowdoin  men  broke  forth  tumultuously.  Then  it  was  easy 
to  see  how  large  a  place  Elijah  Kellogg  held  in  their  hearts. 

In  a  style  almost  conversational,  as  a  father  talking  to  his 
sons,  he  told  the  simple  story  of  his  life.  Effective  it  was 
indeed,  but  perhaps  not  so  eloquent  as  when  in  i8qo,  looking 
back  over  a  stretch  of  half  a  century,  he  said :  "I  stand  here 
to-day  like  an  old  tree  among  the  younger  growth,  from 

157 


TALKS    OF    BOWDOIN 

whose  trunk  the  bark  and  limbs  have  fallen,  and  whose  roots 
are  dying  in  the  soil.  Then  I  could  stand  where  the  roads 
divide  that  lead  to  Mere  Point  and  Maquoit,  and  hear  the 
roar  of  the  Atlantic  in  one  ear  and  that  of  the  falls  of  the 
Androscoggin  in  the  other.  To-day  I  have  not  heard  a 
word  except  the  two  words  'Bowdoin  College.'  But  there 
is  no  decrepitude  of  the  spirit.  Moons  may  wax  and  wane, 
flowers  may  bloom  and  wither,  but  the  associations  that  link 
a  student  to  his  intellectual  birthplace  are  eternal." 

In  these  many  Hghts  have  Bowdoin  men  seen  Elijah  Kel- 
logg. They  have  known  him  as  a  jovial,  vivacious,  free- 
hearted boy.  They  have  known  him  as  a  young  preacher 
beloved  by  his  church  and  as  an  author  of  robust  and  breezy 
books.  In  later  years  they  have  seen  him  drive  into  the 
village,  sometimes  with  his  old-fashioned  wagon  piled  full 
of  bags  of  potatoes,  sometimes  with  his  rack  loaded  with 
hay  and  drawn  generally  by  oxen,  but  now  and  then  by  two 
cows  or  by  a  cow  and  ox  yoked  together.  They  have 
known  him  as  he  has  farmed  and  fished.  They  have  often 
walked  down  to  his  church  on  Sunday  afternoons  to  hear 
him  preach.  They  have  known  him  as  a  man  so  generous 
that  he  was  often  himself  hard  pressed;  so  pure  in  heart 
that  he  lived  "as  seeing  Him  who  is  invisible."  They 
have  known  of  his  ministrations  as  he  has  christened  the 
children,  married  the  young  men  and  women,  soothed  the 
sick,  consoled  the  dying,  and  comforted  the  mourning  of  one 
generation  after  another  of  ship-builders,  fishermen,  and 
farmers  in  his  country  parish.  They  have  chatted  with  him 
in  the  Alpha  Delta  Phi  hall,  and  they  have  heard  him  at 
Sunday  chapel  services,  at  Y.  M.  C.  A.  meetings  and  Com- 
mencement dinners.  And  they  have  come  to  see  that  this 
quaint,  unconventional,  retiring,  simple,  eloquent  man  was 
no  ordinary  preacher.     They  have  found  that  somehow  he 

158 


THE    STORY    OF    A    BOWDOIN    STORY-TElvIvSR 

could  understand  them.  They  could  tell  him  their  jokes 
and  their  serious  plans,  and  he  could  see  through  their  eyes 
and  hear  through  their  ears.  They  have  found  that  he  was 
interested  in  them  not  simply  as  a  professional  duty  but 
because  he  couldn't  help  it.  They  have  found  that  he  loved 
boys,  that  he  was  happy  in  their  companionship,  delighted  to 
talk  alx)ut  their  work  and  their  sports  and  to  tell  tales  of  his 
own  college  days.  They  have  found  that  he,  more  perhaps 
than  any  other  man  they  have  ever  known,  was  all  the  time 
at  heart  a  boy  himself.  And  I  think  that  for  Bowdoin  stu- 
dents to  have  known  a  man  like  Elijah  Kellogg,  who 
through  the  rubs  and  chances  of  a  long  life  kept  his  spirit 
young  and  his  heart  free  from  bitterness  and  guile,  has 
helped  their  faith  in  God,  in  themselves,  and  in  each  other 
more  than  many  books. 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  JACOB  SHAW 

Franklin  C.  Robinson,  '73 


THE  EDUCATION   OP  JACOB  SHAW 

WHEN  Jacob  Shaw  went  to  Bowdoin  he  was  just  about 
as  green,  and  inexperienced  in  life  and  unformed  in 
his  character  as  the  majority  of  Freshmen  are;  that  is,  he 
was  not  green  or  inexperienced  or  unformed  in  character  at 
all.  It  is  only  a  college  fiction  that  Freshmen  are  thus  con- 
stituted. That  fiction  assumes  that  all  young  men  who  go 
to  college  have  spent  their  previous  years  in  almost  solitary 
confinement,  in  order  that  they  may  get  the  full  benefit  of 
the  college  course,  and  especially  that  they  may  receive  with 
due  appreciation  and  openness  of  mind  the  firm  but  proper 
guidance  which  upper-classmen  are  prepared  to  give  them. 
In  fact,  they  have  been  exposed  for  the  sixteen  or  eiehteerr 
most  plastic  >  ears  of  their  lives  to  conspicuous  and  subcon- 
scious influences  which  ma>-,  and  generally  do,  aflFect  them 
far  more  than  anything  to  which  college  life  exposes  them. 

College  life  is  oftener  the  field  upon  which  previously 
learned  tactics  are  executed  than  the  place  where  these  are 
acquired.  The  reason  why  this  is  not  more  generally  recog- 
nized is  because  subconscious  influences  are  more  powerful 
for  character  formation  than  any  others,  and  outward  action 
may  not  reveal  at  once  real  character.  This  is  not  saying 
that  one  may  not  be  influenced  for  good  or  evil  by  a  college 
course,  for  very  many  are,  but  even  then  pre-college  influ- 
ences have  been  important  factors  in  the  case. 

There  didn't  seem  to  be  anything  about  the  pre-college 
influences  which  had  acted  upon  Jacob  Shaw  to  prevent  his 
making  the  highest  kind  of  a  success  of  his  college  career. 

163 


TALliS    OF    BOWDOIN 

His  father  was  a  well-to-Jo  lawyer  in  a  moderately  sized  vil- 
lage of  Northern  New^  England,  not  reckoned  wealthy, 
though  he  probably  had  more  property  than  he  paid  taxes 
on;  but  that  is  not  an  uncommon  thing  in  any  community. 
Jacob  had  always  had  his  necessary  expenses  paid,  and  a  fair 
amount  of  pocket  money  allowed,  but  his  father  wanted  him 
to  learn  the  value  of  money  and  so  repressed  any  ideas  of 
extravagance  which  might  appear  to  be  in  his  son's  mind. 
His  father  had  the  deserved  reputation  of  getting  what  he 
wanted,  of  being  ''a  hard  man  to  beat,"  etc.,  and  Jacob  was, 
of  course,  exposed  to  certain  family  discussions  over  things 
which  came  out  as  his  father  wanted  them  to  regardless  per- 
haps of  strict  ethical  principles,  but  a  boy  couldn't  be  sup- 
posed to  be  affected  by  little  things  of  that  kind  which  he 
didn't  understand.  His  father  was  not  a  religious  man,  but 
his  mother  was,  pardon  the  solecism,  I  mean  she  had  a 
sufficient  stock  of  goodness  on  hand  to  provide  for  herself 
surely,  and  probably  to  pull  him  through  any  difficulty  which 
might  hereafter  confront  him.  She  was  prominent  in 
church  affairs,  gave  liberally  to  all  good  objects,  and  took  a 
humble  pride  in  her  interest  in  the  poor,  and  her  familiarity 
with  certain  wealthy  families  who  came  every  summer  to 
occupy  cottages  on  the  shore  of  a  neighboring  lake.  She 
was  sorry  that  her  social  duties  took  up  so  much  of  her  time 
that  she  had  to  forego  many  visits  to  poor  people  which  she 
would  otherwise  have  made ;  that  is,  she  frequently  said  she 
was  sorry  and  no  one  of  her  family  disputed  her. 

If  any  two  words  more  than  others  had  been  dinned  into 
Jacob's  ears  they  were  "diligence"  and  "care."  Sending 
him  to  college  was  a  part  of  that  diligence  and  care  on  the 
part  of  his  father,  to  make  him  worthy  to  succeed  in  and  to 
his  business.  There  were  no  other  children  in  the  family  so 
his  outlook  in  this  direction  was  the  simple  and  natural  one. 

164 


THE    EDUCATION    OF    JACOB    SHAW 

His  parents  supposed  they  had  every  reason  to  believe  that 
he  would  go  on  at  college  just  as  he  had  at  home,  and  of 
course  if  he  did  not  it  was  the  fault  of  the  college.  They 
were  sure  of  that,  and  when  Mrs.  Shaw  said  it  to  her  hus- 
band at  their  first  meal  after  she  came  back  from  locating 
him,  and  seeing  that  his  room  was  properly  furnished,  he 
nodded  a  most  emphatic  approval. 

At  about  the  same  hour  their  son  was  sitting  in  his  com- 
fortable room  in  South  Maine  thinking  how  nice  it  was  to 
have  things  one  wanted,  and  how  he  would  enjoy  getting 
them  himself,  for  he  confessed  that  he  was  getting  a  little 
tired  of  the  home  restraint,  and  rather  longed  to  put  into 
practice  the  precepts  there  learned.  He  was  well  dressed, 
knew  the  usages  of  good  society,  was  accomplished  some- 
what in  music  and  dancing,  in  short  was  one  of  those  fellows 
sure  to  be  vigorously  fished  by  the  various  college  societies. 
All  this  added  a  little  to  his  natural  complacency  and  self- 
satisfaction,  but  after  he  had  accepted  what  he  thought  was 
the  best  oifer,  he  was  a  little  indignant  at  the  lower  value 
placed  upon  his  acquaintance. 

He  was  sorry  on  the  whole  to  learn  that  hazing  was 
entirely  a  thing  of  the  past  there.  He  thought  he  should 
enjoy  being  "put  through"  a  little.  It  was  on  the  whole 
attractive  to  listen  to  the  stories  told  by  the  upper-classmen 
of  what  had  been  done  to  them.  He  could  see  by  their  talk 
how  it  had  gradually  passed  away,  for  Seniors  had  appar- 
ently suftered  more  than  Juniors,  and  Sophomores  least  of 
all.  Happening  to  glance  over  a  triennial  catalogue  of  the 
college,  and  noticing  the  increasing  number  of  stars  oppo- 
site the  names,  showing  members  deceased,  his  first  thought 
•was  that  these  had  been  killed  by  hazing,  showing  that  this 
increase  in  severity  extended  gradually  back  to  early  times. 

if'S 


TALSS    OF    BOWDOIN 

He  was  susprised  after  this  to  receive  a  visit  one  night 
from  a  howling  crowd  of  masked  men,  who  made  him  get  up 
and  make  a  speech  to  them,  and  then  crawl  over  his  bedroom 
door,  which  was  not  an  easy  nor  decorous  thing  to  do  as  he 
was,  even  with  the  kind  assistance  of  some  of  his  visitors. 
But  his  wrath  blazed  up  brightly  when  some  one  from  the 
back  of  the  room  suggested  that  he  sing  the  hvmn  his  father 
loved  so  well,  beginning  "I  dearly  love  my  farmer  friends 
for  they  mortgage  their  farms  to  me."  But  it  did  no  good 
to  get  mad  and  they  soon  left  him  with  the  advice  to  be  "a 
good  Freshie.''  He  didn't  feel  that  he  had  been  treated  very 
badly,  but  was  provoked  that  he  hadn't  passed  through  the 
affair  as  boldly  as  all  those  fellows  did,  who  had  told  him 
of  their  own  experience.  He  expected  that  there  would  be 
a  great  excitement  in  college  at  this  revival  of  hazing  but 
there  was  not.  He  concluded  then  that  the  great  secrecy 
with  which  it  was  done  prevented  it  from  being  known  to 
the  faculty.  Afterwards  he  doubted  some  whether  this 
explanation  was  the  true  one.  One  thing  was  most  aston- 
ishing, and  that  was  how  in  the  excitement  of  the  time,  he 
was  unable  to  remember  the  next  day  all  that  happened  to 
him  that  night,  but  it  gradually  came  back  to  him  with 
increasing  minuteness  of  detail,  though  it  was  not  till  Senior 
year  that  he  remembered  the  whole  of  it.  Such  is  some- 
times the  effect  of  shock  upon  the  brain. 

He  was  a  fair  scholar  and  took  high  rank.  He  not  only 
knew  how  to  recite  well  but  was  careful  of  all  other  things 
which  are  supposed  to  bear  on  the  subject  of  rank.  When 
his  professors  got  to  talking  on  their  "specialties,"  not 
*'hobbies"  of  course,  he  was  full  of  attention  and  wholly 
absorbed  in  what  they  were  saying,  so  much  so  that  his 
appearance  could  hardly  fail  to  attract  their  notice,  and  he 
believed  that  such    fleeting    appearances  were   afterwards 

i66 


THK    EDUCATION    01?    JACOB    SHAW 

developed  and  fixed  in  the  form  of  figures  in  the  rank  books, 
but  of  course  they  were  not. 

His  Freshman  and  Sophomore  years  were  on  the  whole, 
disappointing,  and  at  their  end  he  had  half  a  mind  to  leave 
college  and  begin  his  law  studies.  He  felt  at  times  that  he 
wasn't  fully  appreciated,  and  still  he  couldn't  tell  just  where 
and  how.  When  he  came  to  think  it  over  he  concluded  to 
stay  and  finish  his  course.  The  thing  which  really  troubled 
him  was  not  so  much  the  lack  of  consideration  given  to  him, 
as  the  increased  influence  of  certain  others  in  his  class,  who 
at  first  seemed  of  no  account  at  all.  They  didn't  dress  as 
well  as  he  did,  were  not  as  polished,  and  were  not  fished  for 
the  leading  societies  as  he  was.  But  somehow  they  were 
passing  him  in  rank,  and  besides  had  a  certain  blunt  way  of 
talking,  and  straight-forward  way  of  acting  which  irritated 
him.  Most  of  all  they  got  positions  which  he  wanted  on 
prize  speaking  lists,  etc.  Not  that  he  cared  to  take  part  in 
such  things  for  his  own  sake;  he  would  have  got  excused 
probably  if  he  had  been  put  on,  but  it  would  have  made  his 
mother  feel  better  to  see  his  name  on  the  program,  for 
she  was  troubled  at  his  decreasing  rank  in  his  studies.  He 
hardly  knew  how  to  deal  with  such  fellows.  He  knew  how 
his  father  dealt  with  those  who  stood  in  his  way,  but  he 
couldn't  just  see  how  such  methods  could  be  appHed  in 
college.  How  such  fellows  could  lead  him  in  rank  he 
couldn't  understand  at  all.  They  occasionally  took  "deads" 
in  the  recitation  room,  a  thing  he  never  did.  He  flattered 
himself  on  his  self-possession  and  ready  command  of  Eng- 
lish on  all  those  occasions  when  he  was  "pulled"  unexpect- 
edly, and  felt  sure  that  he  had  even  snatched  "ten-strikes" 
as  "brands  from  the  burning"  several  times.  A  glance  at 
the  professor's  rank  book  would  have  told  another  story 
probably,  but  of  course  he  couldn't  know  that. 

167 


TAI,^S    OF    BOWDOIN 

He  also  reasoned  that  Junior  and  Senior  years  would 
reinstate  him  fully  in  that  prominent  position  in  the  class 
from  which  he  had  fallen.  These  were  the  years  when  his 
society  qualities  would  shine,  the  years  of  assemblies  and 
society  receptions,  and  of  course  this  less  cultivated  element 
would  be  obliged  to  give  way  to  fellows  of  his  experience  in 
such  things.  He  had  given  up  any  idea  of  gaining  high 
rank  in  his  class.  ''There  are  other  and  full  as  important 
things  as  scholarship  to  be  obtained  from  a  college  course, 
things  that  will  help  me  more  in  after  life."  This  is  what 
he  wrote  to  his  mother  upon  his  return  to  Bowdoin  after  his 
Sophom.ore  vacation.  It  was  written  in  explanation  of  his 
change  of  feeling,  for  after  numerous  talks  with  her  he  had 
expressed  a  determination  to  try  and  regain  his  old  position 
in  his  class  in  rank.  But  it  w^as  one  thing  to  talk  with  his 
mother  at  home  and  quite  another  to  write  to  her  from  his 
college  room,  where  the  fact  of  his  position  as  a  Junior 
weighed  heavily  upon  him.  To  his  mother  he  was  still  her 
boy,  but  really  he  was  a  Junior,  and  he  was  just  a  little 
impatient  that  she  didn't  see  the  important  difference. 

"1  shall  give  the  studies  all  the  time  they  ought  to  have," 
he  went  on  to  say,  "have  no  fear  about  that,  but  we  are 
taught  here  to  look  at  things  in  a  broader  way,  to  give  each 
element  of  life  its  proper  weight,  to  correlate  educational 
values  in  a  way  you  probably  could  not  fully  understand. 
Some  of  our  most  important  lessons  are  not  learned  from 
books."  That  settled  it  for  his  mother.  She  had  taught 
school  when  a  girl,  and  remembered  similar  expressions 
heard  at  educational  meetings.  She  didn't  know  just  what 
they  meant  but  was  proud  of  her  son  for  using  them. 

Certain  assemblies  were  planned  for  that  winter  at  the 
Town  Hall  and  he  was  put  on  the  committee  of  arrange- 
ments.    He  insisted  on  going  quite  extensively  into  decora- 

i68 


THS    EDUCATION    O^    JACOB    SHAW 

tion  for  the  rooms  in  which  they  were  to  be  held,  thus  bring- 
ing into  prominence  his  knowledge  of  how  such  things 
should  be  done.  But  he  was  a  little  chagrined  that  he  had 
forgotten  to  notify  the  patronesses  and  this  would  have  been 
entirely  overlooked  had  not  some  other  member  of  the  com- 
mittee asked  him  about  it.  This  neglect  was  due  chiefly  to 
his  contempt  for  women  and  girls  in  general.  They  were 
necessary  of  course  for  homes  and  social  relations.  He 
enjoyed  seeing  them  at  parties,  or  on  the  street,  in  their  best 
clothes,  and  he  was  quite  a  critic  of  their  style,  etc.  He 
knew  how  to  offer  all  the  little  conventional  attentions  to 
them,  but  the  things  which  make  for  their  comfort  did  not 
trouble  him  much.  Of  course  in  due  time  he  expected  to 
marry  one,  but  that  was  a  very  simple  matter;  he  would 
select  carefully  the  one  he  wanted.  The  girls  who  attended 
the  assemblies  were  partly  town  girls,  and  partly  girls  from 
the  neighboring  cities.  He  had  not  invited  any  girl  for  the 
first  night.  He  knew  that  he  would  have  no  difficulty  in 
getting  all  the  dances  he  wanted,  and  he  knew  that  there 
would  be  several  girls  as  well  as  fellows  there  in  the  same 
condition.  He  had  never  met  any  of  the  town  girls.  He 
had  seen  some  of  them  in  church  and  had  heard  the  rather 
familiar  comment  upon  them  made  by  the  students  in  the 
galleries.  He  thus  expected  to  find  them  anxious  for  stu- 
dent attentions,  and  ready  to  flirt.  Now  this  matter  of 
flirtation  had  not  previously  troubled  him,  but  was,  as  he 
now  conceived,  a  necessary  part  of  that  "broader  culture" 
which  he  had  written  about,  and  he  made  up  his  mind  that 
he  must  have  the  experience  of  it,  and  here  was  the  chance 
to  begin. 

He  was  not  a  little  surprised  at  the  decided  repulse  his 
first  efforts  in  that  line  met.  He  selected  one  of  the  most 
attractive  and  stylish  of  the  town  girls,  secured  some  dances 

169 


TAI,^S   OF    BOWDOIN 

with  her  and  made  rapid  progress  in  his  acquaintance,  but 
he  soon  learned  that  the  slightest  attempt  of  his  to  cross  the 
boundary  line  between  pleasant  acquaintance  and  impro- 
priety was  decidedly  checked,  and  after  that  there  were  no 
vacant  dances  on  her  order  for  him. 

He  then  turned  his  attention  in  other  directions  but  for 
some  time  with  a  like  result.  There  were  however  a  cer- 
tain number  of  girls  there  of  a  much  younger  set,  and  some 
of  these  were  seemingly  much  pleased  with  his  appreciation 
of  their  charms,  and  flattered  at  his  preference  of  them  to 
the  older  girls.  These  "older  girls"  had  reached  the 
advanced  age  of  nineteen  or  twenty  perhaps,  and  were  of 
course  so  near  to  being  old  maids  that  they  could  hardly 
hope  to  compete  in  attractiveness  with  girls  of  from  four- 
teen to  sixteen.  But  there  was  not  quite  the  satisfaction 
he  expected  from  flirting  with  the  latter.  They  didn't  know 
any  better  and  that  took  away  at  least  half  the  fun  for  him. 
Flirting  seems  to  be  an  indulgence  which  owes  its  chief  zest 
to  mutual  recognition  of  what  they  are  doing  by  those  who 
practice  it. 

He  wound  up  the  evening  by  escorting  home  one  of  these 
young  girls,  and  felt  well  satisfied  with  his  progress,  when 
she  lingered  with  him  a  few  minutes  before  going  in,  and 
made  no  distinct  protest  when  he  left  her  with  certain  pro- 
noimced  squeezings  of  her  little  hand.  He  did  not  know 
that  she  went  into  the  house  v/ith  such  extra  color  in  her 
face  that  she  did  not  care  to  go  into  the  sittine-room  where 
she  knew  her  mother  was  waiting  for  her,  but  went  directly 
to  her  own  room. 

Before  the  next  assembly  he  had  called  upon  Ellen  Wallis 
and  engaged  her  for  the  rest  of  the  course.  By  the  time 
these  assemblies  were  over  he  flattered  himself  that  he  had 
been  getting  just  the  kind  of  experience  he  wanted,  even 

170 


THE    EDUCATION    OF    JACOB    SHAW 

though  Ellen  seemed  to  be  taking  his  attentions  rather  too 
seriously.  He  thought  at  first  he  would  "run  her,"  to  quote 
his  elegant  expression  to  some  of  "the  fellows,"  during  that 
season  and  then  get  another  girl  for  Senior  year.  But  she 
was  pretty  and  attractive  and  seemed  so  fond  of  him  that  he 
rather  enjoyed  going  with  her,  and  especially  the  evenings 
he  spent  at  her  home.  Her  parents  were  g^ood  people  of 
moderate  means,  and  evidently  flattered  that  their  daughter 
had  captured  the  son  of  such  a  prominent  man  as  Squire 
Shaw  of  Boltville.  He  enjoyed  talking  to  them,  and  if  he 
did  this  in  something  of  a  learned  and  patronizing  manner 
they  were  certainly  not  offended,  but  listened  with  the  most 
perfect  absorption  in  what  he  was  saying,  and  Mr.  Wallis 
expressed  what  seemed  to  be  the  family  opinion  when  he 
said  that  "he  guessed  some  of  the  college  professors  didn't 
find  it  an  easy  job  to  teach  him;"  and  really  they  didn't, 
though  not  for  the  reason  Mr.  Wallis  thought. 

Thus  almost  in  spite  of  himself  the  acquaintance  grew 
more  and  more  intimate.  Of  course  he  was  careful  not  to 
really  make  love  to  her,  or  become  engaged,  but  he  could  see 
that  the  fruit  was  ready  to  be  picked  any  time  he  might  put 
out  his  hand.  Once  or  twice  he  nearly  forgot  himself,  but 
recovered  in  time.  And  yet  Ellen  Wallis  was  not  a  silly  girl 
by  any  means.  On  the  contrary  she  was  sensible  and  mod- 
est, but  somehow  had  started  in  on  her  young  womanhood 
with  false  notions.  Indeed  her  modesty  was  something  of 
a  disappointment  to  Jacob.  His  first  meeting  with  her  gave 
some  promise,  not  to  say  hope,  of  familiarity  which  had  not 
been  fulfilled.  Thus  while  he  was  as  ready  as  ever  to  talk 
with  the  boys  about  the  indiscretions  of  the  town  girls,  he 
more  than  questioned  with  himself  whether  this  talk  had  any 
real  basis  of  fact. 

171 


TAJIKS    OF    BOWDOIN 

His  Senior  year  began  with  things  in  this  condition,  and 
despite  several  efforts  to  break  off  the  intimacy,  it  ended  with 
them  very  much  the  same.  She  was  a  pretty  girl  and  when- 
ever it  seemed  as  though  he  had  left  her  some  other  young 
man  was  sure  to  begin  to  pay  attention  to  her.  This  would 
call  him  back  to  her  side,  and  he  would  be  received  by  the 
family  with  such  manifestation  of  joy  that  even  if  Ellen 
herself  was  a  little  cold  in  her  welcome  at  first,  her  coldness 
soon  gave  place  to  more  than  the  original  warmth. 

His  college  course  was  closinp-  in  other  respects  as  could 
have  been  predicted.  His  rank  in  his  studies  had  gone 
steadily  down  until  he  would  graduate  somewhere  in  the 
lower  half  of  his  class.  But  he  had  the  same  smooth  and 
polished  appearance  albeit  there  was  that  in  his  looks  which 
suggested  that  in  his  search  for  "broader  experience"  he  had 
spent  some  evenings,  at  least,  outside  his  college  room  or 
the  Wallis  home.  But  the  character  of  these  last  experi- 
ences could  not  but  impress  him  even  in  a  way  he  had  not 
thought  possible.  There  was  the  Last  Chapel  exercise  on 
Ivy  Day  from  which,  after  the  impressive  prayer  from  the 
President,  his  class  had  marched  slowly  out  singing  "Auld 
Lang  Syne."  Before  the  slow  marching  brought  him  to  the 
door  the  thought  of  what  he  ought  to  have  remembered  of 
his  college  course,  and  what  he  actually  did  remember  came 
to  him  with  great  force,  and  when  the  last  cheer  at  the  door 
was  over  he  caught  himself  wiping  away  the  tears  which  he 
could  not  control. 

He  passed  that  evening  with  Ellen  and  her  family  and  all 
were  much  moved  and  edified  at  his  solemn  talk  about  his 
wasted  opportunities.  It  is  true  they  didn't  believe  but  what 
he  had  done  everything  to  make  his  college  course  a  success, 
and  knew  it  had  been,  but  they  liked  to  hear  his  humble  talk, 
it  gave  almost  the  air  of  a  prayer-meeting  to  their  house 

172 


THE    EDUCATION    OF    JACOB    SHAW 

and  went  far  to  quiet  their  consciences  concerning  recent 
neglect  of  attendance  upon  such  services.  Next  morning 
at  the  breakfast  table  Mrs.  Wallis  referred  to  the  evening's 
discourse  and  expressed  her  belief  that  Mr.  Shaw  would  go 
into  the  ministry.  "And  how  would  our  Ellen  like  to  be  a 
minister's  wife?"  she  said  with  a  sly  look  at  her  daughter. 
Ellen  pretended  not  to  understand  what  her  mother  meant. 

"I  don't  see  any  connection  between  Mr.  Shaw's  being  a 
minister  and  my  being  a  minister's  wife"  she  said  a  little 
sharply. 

"The  connection  is  plain  enough  to  every  one  else,"  said 
her  mother  slightly  irritated,  "and  if  it  isn't  to  you  it  ought 
to  be." 

"I  won't  be  talked  to  in  that  way"  said  Ellen  as  she  arose 
from  the  table  and  passed  angrily  out  of  the  room. 

The  truth  was  that  she  herself  was  troubled  and  nervous. 
She  had  become  strongly  attached  to  Jacob,  and,  if  she 
■didn't  actually  love  him  she  thought  she  did.  She  had 
questioned  in  her  own  heart  whether  he  was  treating  her 
right,  but  she  didn't  want  anyone  else  to  suggest  the  idea 
to  her. 

Class  Day  was  to  close  with  the  usual  Dance  upon  the 
Green.  The  beautiful  campus  had  been  decorated  with 
Chinese  lanterns  and  flags,  and  the  evening  was  one  of  those 
rare  ones  which  June  sometimes  provides  for  such  an  occa- 
sion in  order  to  show  what  she  can  do,  regardless  of  the  fact 
that  it  will  prove  a  kind  of  ignis  fatuus  to  lure  other  classes 
on  to  their  destruction. 

Jacob  was  chairman  of  the  committee  of  arrangements, 
and  to  his  persistency  was  due  the  decision  of  the  class  to 
try  it  once  more  in  spite  of  several  years  of  failure.  He 
seemed  to  believe  that  he  had  been  able  to  produce  the  good 
weather  also,  and  was  full  of  joy  at  the  promised  success. 

173 


TAIvKS   OF    BOWDOIN 

It  went  far  to  compensate  him  for  the  failure  of  so  many  of 
his  plans.  Of  course  he  took  Ellen  to  the  dance,  but  they 
didn't  remain  all  the  time  on  the  floor.  It  was  so  beautiful 
to  stroll  around  the  campus  paths.  It  was  like  a  scene  from 
fairyland  to  look  back  at  the  dancers  around  the  Oak,  appar- 
ently gliding  in  and  out  among  the  trees.  It  seemed  to 
Jacob  also  that  he  was  looking  upon  the  last  passing  glories 
of  his  college  course.  It  typified  that  course  to  him.  He 
had  made  it  a  time  of  selfish  enjoyment,  of  personal  gratifi- 
cation, and  soon  it  would  be  wholly  a  thing  of  the  past, 
would  fade  away  like  this  scene  on  the  campus,  of  which  the 
morrow  would  find  nothing  but  the  unsightly  debris  scat- 
tered over  the  ground. 

This  thought  carried  him  out  of  himself  for  a  moment, 
or  brought  to  the  surface  of  his  being  that  better  self  which 
had  not  been  wholly  destroyed.  "And  shall  I  crown  all  my 
other  unfaithfulness  by  being  false  to  Ellen  also?  Is  not 
this  an  opportunity  for  me  to  recover  my  lost  ground?  to 
retrieve  myself  ?  and  if  not  now  what  hope  for  me  ?"  With 
the  sudden  impulse  born  of  this  resolution  he  seized  her 
hand  and  told  her  in  passionate  terms  of  his  great  desire  that 
she  would  not  let  him  go  away  from  college  without  the 
hope  that  he  might  sometime  return  and  make  her  his  wife. 
He  protested  his  own  unworthiness,  and  begged  that  she 
would  not  send  him  away  to  worse  failure  in  the  future,  for 
he  was  sure  that  there  was  no  hope  for  him  unless  he  had 
the  strength  of  her  love  to  help  him. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  he  did  not  have  to  wait  long  for 
a  favorable  reply  from  Ellen,  and  after  some  precious  min- 
utes which  lengthened  into  nearly  an  hour  they  returned  to 
the  dance,  which  no  longer  seemed  to  him  to  typify  the 
rapidly  passing  surface  pleasures  he  had  enjoyed  but  the 
glorious  opening  of  a  brilliant  future. 

174 


the:    education    01^    JACOB    SHAW 

His  mother  came  to  Brunswick  for  Commencement  Day, 
but  there  were  so  many  things  for  her  to  see  that  there  was 
not  time  to  explain  to  her  the  new  relations  he  had  entered 
into.  She  was  also  impatient  to  take  him  home  aeain.  She 
laid  the  blame  of  his  non-success  in  a  literary  line  to  the 
college  and  the  town,  and  wanted  nothing  to  do  with  either 
of  them  further.  They  met  one  or  two  couples  strolling 
about  the  campus,  and  upon  his  telling  her  that  they  were 
students  and  town  girls  who  had  become  engaged,  she  told 
him  how  glad  she  was  that  he  had  not  been  so  foolish.  Of 
course  he  would  explain  later,  but  evidently  it  would  not 
be  opportune  to  say  anything  about  Ellen  to  her  then. 

Ellen  readily  excused  him  for  devoting  his  whole  time 
that  day  to  his  mother.  She  was  so  supremely  happy  that 
no  cloud  could  come  between  her  and  the  sun  of  her  love 
without  being  instantly  dissipated.  They  had  a  tender  part- 
ing when  he  finally  left  for  home,  and  he  promised  an  early 
return  to  make  a  few  days'  visit  when  publicity  would  be 
given  to  their  engagement. 

When  a  young  man  ends  the  college  life  and  goes  back 
to  his  native  town,  it  seems  to  him  that  more  than  twice 
four  years  have  passed  since  he  left  it.  He  may  have  spent 
every  vacation  at  home  and  made  many  visits  during  term 
time,  but  still  he  has  not  kept  in  touch  with  it  as  he  did 
before.  His  interests  have  been  elsewhere  and  though  he 
may  have  known  of  every  important  change  there,  he  has 
not  actually  taken  them  in.  Only  when  he  finally  comes  back 
does  he  realize  what  changes  the  years  have  made.  It 
seemed  to  Jacob  as  he  began  to  go  about  and  renew  old  asso- 
ciations in  Boltville,  that  it  was  an  entirely  new  place. 

"So  it  seems  that  old  Shanly  is  dead"  he  said  at  the  dinner 
table  one  day. 

175 


TAL,^S    OF    BOVVDOIN 

"Why,  Jacob,  you  knew  that  he  died  nearly  four  years 
ago,"  said  his  mother. 

"I  suppose  I  did,  but  I  had  forgotten  it."  And  so  one 
after  another  of  the  things  that  had  happened  in  the  town 
while  he  was  in  college  came  to  his  attention  now  as  though 
for  the  first  time. 

He  seemed  almost  offended  at  the  important  changes. 
He  seemed  to  think  that  everything  ought  to  have  remained 
just  as  it  was  until  after  he  had  finished  his  education. 

Possibly  the  carrying  out  of  certain  resolves  he  had  made 
to  mingle  more  with  the  town's  people  than  he  used  to 
helped  make  the  changes  in  town  more  noticeable  to  him. 
For  he  was  full  of  his  new  love  and  hope  and  anxious  to  get 
-established  in  business  as  rapidly  as  possible  in  order  to 
warrant  getting  married. 

He  wrote  often  to  Ellen  telling  her  of  his  devotion  to  law 
books  and  how  he  was  becoming  acquainted  with  his  "future 
clients." 

"They  are  not  such  disagreeable  people  after  all,"  he 
wrote.  "Of  course  they  are  ignorant  and  do  lots  of  things 
because  of  it,  but  they  are  thrifty  and  most  of  them  have  a 
little  money  laid  up,  and  I  am  sure  there  is  a  good  opening 
for  me  to  get  a  living  here  even  while  the  'old  man'  is  active, 
and  of  course  when  he  gives  up  I  shall  have  the  whole." 
He  told  her  many  of  his  funny  adventures.  It  is  true  they 
were  actually  not  so  very  funny,  but  things  didn't  have  to  be 
absorbingly  interesting  in  themselves  in  order  to  be  appre- 
ciated by  the  lovers. 

The  widow  Shanly  and  her  son  Billy  served  to  fill  up 
many  of  those  necessary  spaces  in  his  letters  between  the 
reiterated  expressions  of  his  love  and  devotion.  "She  is 
sort  of  a  religious  crank"  he  explained,  "and  lives  with  her 
half  idiotic  son  on  an  old  farm  with  tumbledown  buildings 

176 


THE    EDUCATION    OF    JACOB    SHAW 

out  on  the  road  where  I  go  to  the  pond  for  fishing.  It  is  a 
short  cut  across  their  pasture  to  the  pond  and  one  day  I  was 
in  such  a  hurry  that  I  left  the  bars  down,  and  when  I  came 
back  I  saw  that  some  of  their  cattle  had  got  out  and  gone 
into  a  patch  of  sweet  corn  and  had  nearly  ruined  it.  It  was 
great  fun  to  see  the  old  woman  trying  to  drive  them  out. 
They  would  run  this  way  and  that,  and  she  after  them  with 
a  Ijroom  in  her  hand  and  all  the  time  yelling  for  Billy  in  a 
thin,  squeaky  voice.  I  nearly  died  laughing  to  see  her 
antics.  I  thmk  it  didn't  make  her  feel  any  better  to  see  me 
laughing  at  her."  There  was  little  wonder  that  Mrs. 
Shanly  was  excited,  for  it  was  on  this  piece  of  corn  that  she 
was  depending  to  get  money  to  pay  the  interest  on  a  mort- 
gage held  by  Jacob's  father. 

Weeks  went  by  without  the  promised  visit  to  his  fiancee, 
but  there  was  no  change  in  the  character  of  his  letters,  and 
though  Ellen  gently  chided  him  for  his  failure  to  carry  out 
his  first  plans,  still  she  felt  more  solicitude  for  his  health 
because  of  overwork  than  for  her  own  pleasure.  Her  replies 
to  her  lover's  letters  were  such  as  would  be  expected.  Her 
sense  of  triumph  and  satisfaction  was  so  complete  that, 
beyond  ardent  expressions  of  her  desire  to  see  him,  she  said 
little  of  his  continued  delay.  After  his  account  of  his 
experience  with  Mrs.  Shanly  and  the  cattle,  she  said  in  one 
of  her  letters,  ''I  read  your  interesting  description  of  Mrs. 
Shanly  and  her  funny  actions,  to  mother,  and  she  was  much 
amused  at  it,  though  of  course  the  telling  of  such  a  thing  is 
never  quite  so  interesting  as  the  seeing  it.  Then,  too, 
mother  remembered  that  one  of  her  girl  friends  married  a 
Shanly,  though  of  course  this  wasn't  the  one,  and  that 
seemed  to  prevent  her  from  enjoying  the  story  as  much  as  I 
did.  I  shan't  read  to  her  any  more  of  your  adventures  until 
she  teases  me  real  hard,  and  that  wall  pay  her  for  almost 
K  177 


TAI^ES    OF    BOWDOIN 

disapproving  what  you  did.  But  it  was  so  comical,  wasn't 
it?  I  have  read  it  over  many  times  since,  and  each  time 
enjoy  it  better."  This  latter  statement  was  not  strictly  true, 
but  she  felt  after  what  she  had  said  about  her  mother,  that 
she  must  emphasize  her  own  oneness  with  him  in  sympathy 
and  appreciation. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Shaw  began  to  suspect  that  her  son  had 
some  attachment  or  other  to  his  college  town  not  of  a 
literary  nature.  She  noticed  the  frequent  letters  he  got 
from  Brunswick  and,  though  Ellen  had  cultivated  a  certain 
masculine  style  of  penm.anship,  it  did  not  wholly  allay  the 
suspicion  that  the  address  was  written  by  a  feminine  hand. 
Not  that  Ellen  made  any  effort  at  concealment,  she  never 
thought  of  such  a  thing.  It  happened  to  be  a  fad  among 
her  girl  friends  at  that  time  to  write  in  that  way.  She  was 
even  slightly  troubled  that  many  of  his  letters  were  posted 
at  some  neighboring  town,  and  failed  to  take  the  hint  when 
he  suggested,  jocosely,  that  she  follow  hi?  example.  It  was 
such  fun,  he  said,  when  one  was  out  riding  and  passed  a 
post  office,  to  jump  out  and  mail  a  letter.  It  made  people 
think  one  had  a  large  business  correspondence.  A  sus- 
picion of  what  was  going  on  was  no  sooner  entertained  by 
Mrs.  Shaw  than  attempts  were  made  to  verify  or  disprove  it. 
Such  attempts  of  course  soon  brought  out  the  truth.  At 
first  she  was  wild  with  anger  and  grief.  She  thought  she 
would  go  to  him  and  upbraid  him  as  an  undutiful  son  and 
make  him  give  up  the  prospect  of  such  an  unworthy  or 
unfitting,  which  meant  the  same  thing  to  her,  alliance.  "To 
think  of  it,"  she  said  to  her  husband,  "that  our  boy  should 
have  been  led  away  by  such  a  designing  creature."  Thus 
the  college  fell  still  lower  in  her  estimation.  Her  idea 
seemed  to  be  that  the  office  of  a  college  was,  like  that  of  a 
sausage  machine,  to  stutT  the  skins  of  young  men  full  of 

178 


THE    e:dUCATION    0^    JACOB    SHAW 

properly  minced  and  seasoned  material  and  make  them 
into  ''strings,"  each  individual  "link"  of  which  was  to  be 
cut  off  at  Commencement  time,  and  given,  smooth  and 
plump  and  unctuous,  into  the  hands  of  expectant  parents. 

But  Squire  Shaw  was  full  of  worldly  experience.  He 
was  no  less  angry  at  the  discovery,  but  he  felt  that  the  better 
way  to  accomplish  their  wishes  was  to  ignore  their  knowl- 
edge of  Jacob's  engagement,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned. 
''The  best  way  to  fight  fire  on  a  meadow  is  to  back  fire  it," 
he  craftily  said.  "If  it's  a  girl  he  wants,  let's  get  one  here 
for  him.  An  air-tight  stove  is  more  effective  to  warm  a 
man  on  a  cold  night  than  all  the  stars  in  the  sky,  for  he  can 
get  closer  to  it.  Who  is  there  you  can  invite  to  make  a  visit 
to  you  this  Winter?"  Mrs.  Shaw  saw  the  drift  of  his 
remarks  but  did  not  wholly  approve  of  the  plan.  She  was 
close  in  money  matters  and  rather  indolent,  and  a  young 
lady  visitor  meant  parties  and  much  trouble  and  expense. 
But  in  the  end  she  bowed  to  the  greater  wisdom  of  her 
spouse  and  after  some  trouble  fixed  on  a  young  lady  of  good 
family  and  some  property  whose  acquaintance  she  had  made 
through  one  of  the  Summer  colony  which  spent  few  weeks 
each  year  on  the  shore  of  the  lake. 

To  Alice  Sprague  she  wrote  a  letter  strongly  urging  her 
to  come  and  spend  some  weeks  with  her.  "You  have  never 
seen  Boltville  in  Winter.  It  will  make  your  next  Summer 
visit  all  the  more  delightful  when  you  can  compare  it  with  a 
Winter  one."  She  said  nothing  about  her  grown-up  son 
being  at  home,  indeed  Alice  did  not  know  she  had  a  son. 
She  had  spent  only  one  Summer  at  the  lake,  and  Jacob  was 
not  at  home  and  if  he  had  been  she  might  not  have  met  him. 
She  herself  had  just  graduated  from  college  and  was  full  of 
enthusiasm  for  college  settlement  and  other  good  works  of 
that  kind,  and  hence  had  been  much  interested  in  Mrs. 

179 


TALES    OF    BOWDOIN 

Shaw's  account  of  the  benevolent  work  she  did  in  the  town 
and  the  great  need  of  doins:  more  of  it.  Like  many  city 
people  she  had  a  general  idea  that  most  country  folk  were 
to  be  greatly  pitied,  because  of  their  primitive  condition  and 
lack  of  comforts  of  life.  She  could  see  how  by  the  help  of 
the  Summer  visitors  they  managed  to  eke  out  a  picturesque 
existence  in  the  Summer,  but  ''what  could  such  people  do  in 
the  Winter  ?"  This  visit  might  show  her  and  she  would  at 
least  get  material  for  "talks"  on  the  subject  at  the  ladies' 
club,  so  she  accepted  the  kind  invitation  and  before  long  was 
on  the  ground. 

She  was  much  more  stylish  than  Ellen  Wallis,  and  could 
talk  better,  and  Jacob  could  not  but  make  the  sugerested 
comparison,  which  resulted  not  to  Ellen's  advantage.  He 
didn't  realize  at  all  that  he  himself  was  the  cause  in  great 
part  of  Ellen's  lack  of  more  educational  advantages.  He 
had  put  foolish  notions  into  her  young  head,  talked  to  her 
and  her  parents  learnedly  about  the  greater  need  there  was 
that  "women  should  cultivate  domesticity  instead  of  aping 
men  in  literary  pursuits,"  so  that  she  had  given  up  the  ideas 
she  once  had  of  going  to  college  herself,  and  now  he 
mentally  blamed  her  that  she  did  not  compare  favorably 
with  this  bright  and  cultivated  girl. 

To  complete  the  scheme,  when  it  was  evident  that  the 
"air-tight  was  working  as  Mr.  Shaw  had  predicted,  Mrs. 
Shaw  caused  it  to  be  known  in  Brunswick  that  her  son 
Jacob  was  engaged,  or  likely  soon  to  be,  to  a  certain  culti- 
vated and  attractive  girl  then  visiting  in  Boltville.  This  had 
the  desired  result,  a  letter  of  gentle  inquiry  from  Ellen,  a 
complaint  of  her  lack  of  faith  from  him,  and  soon  a  breaking 
of  the  engagement. 

The  result  was  one  more  "college  widow,"  one  more 
young  man  freed  from  embarrassment,  and  one  more  father 

i8o 


THK    EDUCATION    O?    JACOB    SHAW 

and  mother  congratulating  themselves  on  their  shrewdness 
in  promoting  their  son's  best  interests. 

Now  he  was  free  to  use  the  result  of  his  "experience"  in 
another  case.  But  alas !  like  many  another  experiment,  the 
conditions  were  not  similar  and  the  results  not  corre- 
spondent at  first.  The  wooing  of  Alice  Sprague  was  a  very- 
different  matter.  She  was  responsive  to  all  other  sensations, 
but  not  to  that  of  love.  She  took  long  rides  with  him  alone, 
a  thing  she  would  never  have  done  with  a  young  man  at  her 
own  home.  But  "it  was  so  delightful  to  disregard  for  the 
time  such  conventionalities  and  be  just  like  the  other  country 
girls."     This  is  what  she  wrote  to  her  college  chum. 

She  went  skating ;  she  made  calls ;  she  even  insisted  that 
she  be  allowed  to  visit  the  Shanlys  and  did  so,  though  Mrs. 
Shaw  did  not  accompany  her  but  had  the  coachman  take  her 
there  and  wait  for  her.  She  took  copious  notes  of  all  she 
saw  that  was  novel  and  felt  as  though  she  would  spring  a 
genuine  sensation  when  she  returned  to  her  home.  All  the 
time  she  persisted  in  treating  Jacob  as  a  boy,  much  to  his 
inward  wrath.  Jacob  was  desperately  in  love  with  her,  and 
she  must  have  seen  it,  but  somehow  he  never  could  get  up 
his  courage  to  actually  make  love  to  her,  though  his  mother 
contrived  all  sorts  of  opportunities  for  them  to  be  alone  in 
suitable  situations.  Just  before  she  went  home  she  seemed 
a  trifle  more  responsive  as  he  thought,  and  as  she  promised 
to  come  the  next  Summer,  he  felt  that  he  was  sure  to  win  in 
the  end. 

He  wrote  to  her  and  she  answered  his  letters,  telling  him 
how  much  she  enjoyed  her  visit  and  with  what  interest  her 
description  of  life  in  the  country  in  Winter  had  been  received 
at  the  clubs  where  she  had  given  it.  "I  really  am  getting 
jinore  and  more  interested  in  it  myself,  and  am  almost  sure 
that  if  other  country  towns  are  like  Boltville,  I  should  be 

i8i 


TAI,KS    OF    BOWDOIN 

quite  contented  to  live  all  the  time  in  one."  This  admission 
seemed  so  significant  to  Jacob  that  his  ardor  was  kindled 
afresh,  and  he  looked  forward  with  almost  feverish  impa- 
tience to  her  coming  the  next  Summer.  It  tended  also  to 
confirm  his  earlier  notions  about  girls,  notions  which  had 
received  some  slight  shock  from  the  quickness  with  which 
Ellen  had  given  him  his  freedom,  and  Alice's  gfeneral  treat- 
ment of  him. 

But  her  Summer  coming  was  on  the  whole  an  illustration 
of  the  old  saying  about  anticipation  and  realization.  She 
was  glad  to  see  him  but  quite  unaccountable  in  her  behavior 
to  him.  Sometimes  she  was  cold  and  unresponsive  and  at 
others  quite  the  reverse.  »She  would  not  go  with  him  as 
freely  as  she  did  in  the  Winter,  but  his  mother  told  him  that 
that  was  favorable  rather  than  otherwise.  His  greatest  dis- 
appointment was  that  she  would  not  go  rowing  with  him  in 
the  new  boat  he  had  bought,  and  fitted  with  cushions,  and 
made  in  every  way  as  attractive  as  possible.  Something 
always  seemed  to  stand  m  the  way  when  he  would  try  to 
arrange  a  time.  "Don't  try  to  plan  ahead  for  such  a  thing," 
she  would  say,  "I  am  enjoying  the  present  so  much  that  I 
can't  bear  to  look  even  a  day  into  the  future.  Just  come 
over  when  you  feel  like  going  and  if  I  can  arrange  it  I  will 
go."  But  somehow  she  never  could  arrange  to  go,  at  least 
for  any  long  trip.  She  had  at  times  been  able  to  get  in  and 
go  for  a  short  row,  but  never  to  the  other  side  of  the  lake 
where  he  wanted  to  take  her.  As  the  time  drew  near  for 
the  party  to  break  up  she  seemed  at  times  almost  rude  to 
him,  and  was  especially  so  two  or  three  days  before,  when 
he  had  made  her  a  call. 

On  the  evening  before  she  was  to  go  home  she  had  wan- 
dered down  to  the  shore  of  the  lake  and  was  taking  a  last 
farewell  look  at  its  evening  beauties.     Where  on  earth  are 

182 


THE    EDUCATION    0^    JACOB    SHAW 

there  such  beauties  and  such  influences  as  come  from  the 
scene  before  her?  It  was  not  the  boundless  ocean  which 
speaks  of  endless  striving  and  endeavor,  which  wakens 
ambition  to  go  on  and  on  in  never  ending  labor,  even  to 
eternity.  It  was  a  definitely  limited  expanse  of  water  shut 
in  by  the  hills,  with  a  further  shore  just  far  enough  off  to 
have  its  exact  contour  hidden,  leaving  suitable  scope  for  the 
imagination  to  speculate  as  to  just  what  was  there,  but 
making  it  sure  that  no  startling  discovery,  could  possibly  be 
made  by  visiting  it.  Such  a  place  is  of  all  others  the  one  to 
bring  thoughts  of  earthly  love  and  contentment.  Alice,  too, 
had  been  long  enough  out  of  college  to  get  back  again  in 
great  measure  to  the  realities  of  life,  to  see  its  limitations, 
and  be  more  willing  to  take  up  its  plain  duties  feeling  sure 
that  great  privileges  would  come  also  with  these.  She  was 
slightly  aroused  from  her  revery  by  the  grating  of  a  boat's 
keel  upon  the  shore  near,  and  turning  her  head  saw  that 
Jacob  Shaw  was  its  occupant. 

"I  have  been  watching  you  for  some  little  time,"  he  said, 
"and  thought  I  would  see  how  near  I  could  get  without 
attracting  your  notice.  I  believe  you  would  have  sat  there 
all  night  without  moving  if  my  boat  had  not  touched  the 
shore.     Come,  now,  get  in  and  let's  take  a  last  little  row." 

He  said  this  with  such  an  almost  hopeless  tone  that  she 
assented  without  a  word  of  objection,  and  soon  they  were 
gently  moving  along  in  the  shadows  close  by  the  shore. 
"Stop  rowing,"  she  soon  said,  "this  is  too  beautiful  to  dis- 
turb. The  glassy  surface  of  the  water  and  the  stillness 
protest  in  the  strongest  possible  way  at  even  the  slight  dis- 
turbance we  make."  He  rested  on  his  oars  and  both  gazed 
for  a  while  in  silence  and  apparently  in  full  sympathy  with 
the  scene. 

183 


TAI,^S   OF    BOWDOIN 

"But  yet,"  he  finally  said,  "this  is  an  unnatural  condition 
and  cannot  and  ought  not  to  last  lon^.  The  true  and  best 
condition  of  life  is  one  of  effort,  mutual  effort.  Notice  how 
the  little  waves  we  make  go  in  pairs  out  into  the  moonlight 
in  ever  widening  circles,  one  just  behind  and  close  to 
another,  and  see  hov/  much  brighter  and  more  beautiful  the 
path  they  make  than  the  previous  glassy  surface  they  have 
broken  in  upon." 

"Quite  a  poetic  idea,"  she  replied,  as  if  for  the  first  time 
aroused  from  a  lethargy  and  coming  to  her  old  self,  "but  I 
don't  just  like  that  idea  of  tagging  along  behind  each  other. 
It  is  too  much  like  the  Irish  couples  I  see  going  to  early 
mass  in  the  city." 

"O  Alice,  do  be  serious  on  this,  the  last  evening  ypu  will 
be  here,"  he  quickly  added  in  a  tone  as  though  hurt  by  her 
words. 

"Pardon  me,  I  should  not  have  spoken  so,  I  suppose.  I 
do  not  wish  to  hurt  your  feelings.  But  come,  we  must  go 
ashore,  for  I  make  an  early  start  in  the  morning.  It  was 
imprudent  in  me  to  have  gotten  into  the  boat  at  all." 

"Not  till  I  have  told  you  of  my  great  love,  and  how  neces- 
sary ypu  are  to  my  happiness.  I  came  this  evening  deter- 
mined to  do  so  and  must  not,  cannot,  keep  back  the  words 
which  come  to  my  lips.  Only  say  ypu  are  not  wholly 
indifferent  to  me  and  give  me  some  hope  that  I  may  in  the 
future  win  your  love  if  I  have  not  now."  He  spoke  with 
great  earnestness,  dropping  the  oars  and  clasping  his  hands 
to  emphasize  his  appeal. 

She  looked,  as  indeed  she  felt,  greatly  disturbed.  "I  am 
sorry  for  this,"  she  finally  said,  "but  I  know  I  am  partly 
responsible.  I  should  not  have  given  you  the  opportunity, 
but  now  that  it  has  been  said  I  will  speak  frankly.  What 
you  ask  can  never  be.     You  can  see  clearly  that  I  do  not 

184 


THS    DDUCATION    OF   JACOB    SHAW 

love  you  now  and  I  am  sure  that  I  never  could  ^row  to  do 
so.  I  am  not  blind,  I  have  seen  for  some  time  that  you 
thought  you  loved  me,  but  I  did  not  believe  vour  feeling 
was  so  strong  as  your  words  show.  I  feel  sure,  however, 
that  it  is  a  temporary  condition  with  you  and  will  pass  away 
as  perhaps  it  has  done  before  in  your  life.  Come,  we  must 
go  ashore."  She  spoke  with  such  firmness  and  self-com- 
posure that  he  saw  that  further  words  were  useless,  and  as 
if  dazed  prepared  to  comply  with  her  wishes,  but  when  he 
came  to  look  for  his  oars  he  found  that,  as  if  typical  of  his 
experience,  they  had  both  floated  out  into  the  darkness 
beyond  his  reach,  and  he  was  compelled  to  make  the  best 
progress  he  could  by  using  an  old  piece  of  board  for  a 
paddle. 

The  boat  had  hardly  touched  the  shore  when  Alice 
jumped  out  and  without  a  word  ran  up  the  steps  of  the 
cottage  and  into  the  house  with  mingled  feelings  of  regret 
and  satisfaction. 

Jacob  fastened  his  boat  and  started  to  walk  home.  Per- 
haps he  remembered  that  evening  a  little  more  than  a  year 
ago  when  the  brilliantly  decorated  campus  spoke  to  him  so 
eloquently  of  his  bright  prospects,  while  now  the  dark 
shadows  from  the  sinking  moon,  and  the  obscure  path 
before  him  suggested  his  baffled  endeavors  and  uncertain 
future.  He  passed  through  the  Shanlys'  pasture  and  down 
by  their  house.  Just  as  he  was  passing  it  he  stopped  sud- 
denly. "What  did  she  mean  by  saying  I  had  possibly  passed 
through  such  a  condition  before?  Could  she  in  any  way 
have  heard  of  Ellen  Wallis?  If  she  had,  you  told  her,''^ 
and  he  shook  his  fist  angrily  in  the  direction  of  the  house. 
Of  course  the  inherent  absurdity  of  that  idea  came  at  once 
to  his  mind  and  he  continued  his  progress  home. 

185 


TAI^eS    0^    BOWDOIN 

Sometime  in  the  middle  of  the  next  forenoon  his  mother 
found  him  in  the  office  busy  apparently  in  the  study  of  a 
law  book.  "Why,  Jacob,"  she  said,  "you  oug-ht  not  to  stick 
so  close  to  these  dry  books.  I  know  you  said  gxDod-bye  to 
AHce  last  night,  but  I  supposed  of  course  you  would  want 
to  go  to  the  train  and  see  her  ofi*  this  morning'.  Remember 
what  you  once  wrote  me  from  college,  one  gets  some  of  the 
most  important  parts  of  his  education  from  other  sources 
than  books."  He  turned  impatiently  in  his  chair  and  made 
no  reply,  but  he  agreed  with  her,  just  the  same. 


A  SMOKE  TALK  IN  No.  7 

Clarence  B.  Burleigh,  '87 


A  SMOKE  TALK  IN   NO.  7 

LON  Remick  was  standing  before  the  mirror  in  the 
bedroom  of  his  apartments  at  No.  7,  preparing  him- 
self for  the  closing  German  in  Lemont  hall.  His  room- 
mate, Cal  Burke,  who  "hated  functions,"  lounged  in  the 
doorway  and  watched  the  operation  with  languid  interest. 
He  was  evidently  in  a  nagging  spirit  that  evening,  and  his 
somewhat  personal  comments  did  not  tend  to  impart  an 
atmosphere  of  serenity  to  the  occasion. 

"Well,  you  do  look  scrumptious,  old  man,"  he  said. 
'How  purple  and  fine  linen  do  become  you — ^and  the  girls, 
what  one  of  them  could  resist  you  ?  My  blessings  go  with 
you,  my  boy,  and  be  sure  you  bring  home  all  your  favors. 
I'm  planning  to  work  out  our  society  letters  with  them  and 
hang  them  over  this  doorway." 

"You  may  have  all  I  get,  and  welcome,  if  you'll  only 
help  me  on  with  this  confounded  collar.  I'm  late  now," 
responded  Lon  impatiently. 

Cal  took  up  the  collar  and  looked  at  it  with  a  quizzical 
smile.  It  was  in  the  fleeting  and  somewhat  exaggerated 
style  of  the  time,  with  points  that  began  to  turn  back  from 
under  the  ears,  and  tips  that  rested  well  down  upon  the 
shoulder  blades. 

"Great  Caesar's  ghost!  where  did  you  get  that?"  he 
demanded. 

"Why,  that's  the  latest  thing.  Haven't  you  seen  them 
yet?" 

180 


TAI^ES    OF    BOWDOIN 

"Certainly,  my  boy.  There's  nothing  new  about  them. 
My  great-grandfather  wouldn't  wear  anything  else.  The 
last  one  I  particularly  noticed  adorned  the  end  man  in  a 
minstrel  show  Alas  for  the  duplicity  that  would  prey 
upon  bucolic  innocence !  I  plainly  see  that  the  good  name 
of  this  room  makes  it  my  solemn  duty  to  go  out  and  kill 
someone — and  who  sold  it  to  you?" 

"Oh,  come  off,  old  man,"  laughed  Remick.  "Be  serious 
for  once  in  your  life,  if  you  can.  Now  tell  me,  honest 
injun,  what  do  you  think  of  it?"  and  he  frankly  lifted  a 
somewhat  perplexed  face  to  his  room-mate,  who,  having 
buttoned  the  collar  in  place,  had  stepped  back  a  few  paces, 
and  was  viewing  it  with  a  simulated  dignity  of  criticism  that 
was  belied  by  twinkling  eyes  and  twitching  mouth  corners. 

Remick's  face  flushed.  "You  don't  like  it,"  he  said 
uneasily.  "Why  don't  you  say  it  ?  You  think  it  looks  like 
the—" 

"Easy,  old  man,"  interrupted  Burke.  "I  haven't  objected 
to  it  in  the  least.  I  am  dazzled  but  not  overcome.  Verily 
I  say  10  you,  my  boy,  that  in  my  humble  opinion  Solomon 
in  all  his  glory  never  had  an  outfit  like  that.  Is  there  any- 
thing more  I  can  do  for  you?" 

"No,  thanks.  I'll  excuse  you  now,"  said  Remick,  a  little 
stiffly.  "I  see  you  are  in  one  of  your  humorous  moods 
tonight." 

"Never  more  serious  in  my  life,"  said  Burke  with  mock 
solemnity,  as  he  retired  to  the  study  room  so  quietly,  that 
Remick,  who  was  once  more  viewing  himself  in  the  mirror, 
failed  to  note  his  departure. 

"I  swear,  I'm  a  good  mind  not  to  wear  it — Why — er — 
hullo,  Pegs!" 

Remick  turned  to  meet  the  smiling  face  of  "Pegs"  Derrill, 
who  stood  in  the  doorway  his  room-mate  had  just  vacated. 

190 


A    SMOKE   TALK    IN    NO.    7 

His  presence  on  this  particular  occasion  was  not  altogether 
welcome,  and  made  Remick  feel  decidedly  uncomfortable. 

Pegs  looked  him  over  slowly  with  critical  gravity  until 
his  eye  rested  upon  the  collar,  then  stuffing  his  handkerchief 
into  his  mouth  to  stifle  a  giggle,  turned  abruptly  back  into 
the  study  room. 

''Confound  his  impudence,"  muttered  Remick  between  his 
teeth.  "I'll  make  him  eat  dog  some  day  to  pay  for  that." 
He  turned  to  complete  his  toilet;  but  not  in  peace.  Pegs 
was  the  first  of  a  procession  which  filed  into  the  study,  one 
by  one,  paused  by  the  bedroom  door  to  bestow  an  apprecia- 
tive smile  upon  Remick's  new  collar,  and  then  grouped 
themselves  in  lounging  attitudes  about  the  open  fire  in  an 
interchange  of  college  opinions  and  anecdotes. 

No  word  was  spoken  to  Remick ;  but  he  was  by  no  means 
insensible  to  the  pantomime  of  which  he  was  the  victim. 
The  big  collar  was  securely  in  place;  but  the  boy  who  a 
little  later  bore  it  in  frigid  dignity  among  the  grinning 
group  in  the  study  was  decidedly  **off  his  moorings."  He 
drew  himself  up  proudly,  faced  his  tormentors  with  a 
flushed  countenance,  and  addressed  them  with  chilling  for- 
mality. 

"Really,  gentlemen,  so  unimportant  a  person  as  myself  is 
scarcely  worthy  of  all  this  attention,"  he  said.  "I  certainly 
regret  the  trouble  I  have  evidently  put  you  to.  If  you  will 
kindly  complete  your  inspection,  and  pass  your  criticisms,  I 
will  bid  you  good  night." 

"What's  the  matter  with  Lon?"  demanded  Burke. 

"He's  all  right,"  was  the  chorused  response,  accompanied 
with  a  pedal  emphasis  that  shook  the  blower  from  the 
standard  grate,  and  made  the  bric-a-brac  rattle  upon  the 
mantel  and  desk  tops. 

191 


TAI,ES    OF    BOWDOIN 

"Thanks,"  said  Remick  with  sarcastic  brevity.  "Come!" 
he  added,  in  a  louder  tone,  in  answer  to  a  knock  from 
the  hallway.  The  door  opened  to  admit  the  bulky  form  and 
good-natured  face  of  Cutty  Norton,  the  college  catcher. 

"Anything  private  ?"  he  asked  as  his  eye  rested  upon  the 
group. 

"No,"  said  Burke,  "only  an  End  mass  meeting.  Lon  is 
going  to  represent  us  at  the  German  tonight — and  we 
wanted  to  make  sure  that  he  was  in  good  form.  Now  look 
him  over,  with  your  usual  good  taste,  and  see  if  he  isn't  a 
credit  to  his  class  and  delegation." 

"Our  sacred  honor  couldn't  be  in  better  keeping,"  smiled 
Cutty.  "By  tlie  way,  Lon,  I  just  came  from  Stetson's  store 
and  left  the  proprietor  reading  the  riot  act  to  that  French 
clerk  of  his.  It  seems  that  you  had  inquired  for  something 
new  in  collars.  The  boy  knew  there  were  none  in  stock; 
but  he  remembered  having  seen  a  box  of  that  description 
among  the  attic  archives — and  so  he  dug  it  out  and  sold  you 
one.  You  see  the  present  styje  is  a  renaissance ;  all  the  go 
thirty  years  ago.  A  little  accentuated — ^that's  all.  Stetson 
is  awfully  cut  up  over  it ;  says  if  you'll  return  the  collar  he'll 
refund  your  money." 

A  roar  of  laughter  greeted  this  announcement. 

"Very  well  done,  indeed,"  sneered  Remick  coldly,  as  he 
•drew  on  his  gloves.  "I  presume  this  is  the  climax.  Bahl 
this  is  certainly  edifying.  However,  I  am  glad  if  I  have 
been  able  to  contribute  in  ever  so  humble  a  way  to  your 
-entertainment,  gentlemen." 

"I  really  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,"  said 
Cutty  blankly,  as  he  looked  about  him  in  evident  amaze- 
ment.    "What  I  have  told  you  is  a  fact." 

The  big  catcher  was  no  actor,  and  it  was  apparent  to  all 
that  he  spoke  the  truth. 

192 


A    SMOKE   TAI,K    IN    NO.    7 

Without  a  word  Remick  returned  to  the  bedroom  and 
tore  off  the  offending  collar.  When  he  had  arrayed  himself 
in  one  less  pronounced,  he  came  back  into  the  study  and 
laid  a  box  of  cigars  upon  the  center  table.  Then  turning 
his  back  upon  the  smiling  group,  whose  members  forebore 
further  comment,  he  passed  out  into  the  hallway,  slamming 
the  door  behind  him  with  an  emphasis  that  voiced  his 
chagrin  more  eloquently  than  words. 

'Thew!  Lon's  just  a  trifle  hot,"  laughed  Cal  when  he 
was  gone.  "Do  you  know,  fellows,  I  never  once  suspected 
but  what  that  collar  was  strictly  a  la  mode.  It  generally 
takes  about  two  or  three  months,  you  know,  for  a  new  style 
to  make  its  way  from  Boston  to  Brunswick." 

"I  couldn't  imagine  what  I'd  run  into,"  said  Cutty.  "I 
didn't  know  you'd  been  stringing  him." 

"It  was  quite  impromptu.  That  collar  was  irresistible. 
I  gave  Pegs  the  tip  and  he  passed  the  word  to  the  boys  in 
the  End ;  but  did  you  get  on  to  the  look  in  Lon's  face  when 
he  saw  that  Cutty  was  giving  it  to  him  straight?  It  was  a 
little  rough  on  the  old  boy,  but  I  owe  him  one  for  the  way 
he  let  me  down  last  week." 

"How  was  that  ?"  asked  Cutty,  scenting  a  story. 

"Yes,  let's  have  it,  old  man,"  came  from  several  other 
members  of  the  group. 

"Well,  before  I  get  to  that,  permit  me" — and  Cal  j^ravely 
passed  around  the  box  of  cigars.  "I  won't  vouch  for  the 
quality  of  these,"  he  said.  "Lon  bought  them  of  a  Jew 
peddler  the  other  day ;  gave  him  nearly  twenty-five  dollars 
worth  of  second-hand  clothing  for  them.  I  haven't  seen  my 
mackintosh,  either,  since  the  deal ;  but  he  swears  by  all  that's 
good  and  holy  that  it  wasn't  included  in  it." 

"Speaking  of  Jew  peddlers,"  drawled  Pod  Bennett  as  he 
blew  a  ring  of  smoke  from  his  freshly  lighted  cigar  and 
L  193 


TALF.S    OF    BOWDOIN 

lazily  watched  it  curl  towards  the  ceiling,  "you've  had  some 
recent  experience  with  that  fraternity,  haven't  you,  Pegs?'* 

"How  did  you  know  about  that  ?" 

"Oh,  the  fellows  are  all  on  to  it.  You  might  as  well 
make  a  clean  breast  of  it  here  in  the  bosom  of  the  family." 

"What  is  it,  old  man  ?"  "let's  have  it !"  "fire  away" — came 
simultaneously  from  different  members  of  the  group. 

"Why,  there  isn't  much  to  it,"  said  Pegs  slowly.  "One 
of  them  sold  me  a  rug  the  other  day ;  said  it  was  a  handsome 
Smyrna,  and  a  bargain  at  twenty-five  dollars.  I  let  him 
have  all  the  old  clothing  I'd  accumulated  during  the  course 
for  it — and  you  know  I  had  a  choice  and  varied  collection. 
While  he  was  still  doing  the  End  I  had  occasion  to  go  down 
town,  and  saw  one  of  those  very  rugs  in  Stetson's  window 
marked  a  dollar  and  ninety-five  cents." 

"Probably  a  cheap  imitation  of  your  valuable  original," 
said  Dan  Pickett  soothingly. 

"It  would  have  been  comforting  if  I  could  have  believed 
so ;  but  a  close  examination  convinced  me  that  it  was  of  the 
same  vintage." 

"  'Vintage'  is  good,"  laughed  Rex  Brown  approvingly. 

"Silence,  trifler,"  ordered  "Judge"  Ransom  with  mock 
solemnity.  "Let  the  brother  state  his  experience.  Confes- 
sion expandeth  the  soul." 

"Well,  I  was  a  little  warm,"  continued  Pegs,  ignoring  the 
interruption,  "and  I  came  back  to  the  End  determined  to 
have  those  clothes  back  or  take  satisfaction  out  of  the  fel- 
low's hide;  but  I  was  too  late." 

"Had  the  bird  flown  ?"  asked  Shorty  Dixon. 

"No,  but  the  clothes  had.  I  set  out  to  thump  the  rascal 
once  for  luck,  but  what  do  you  suppose  he  did?" 

"Settled  in  cash,"  ventured  Punk  Davis. 

194 


A    SMOK^   TAUv    IN    NO.    7 

"Rats !"  was  Peg's  sententious  comment.  "He  backed  up 
in  a  corner  of  the  room  and  stood  me  off  with  a  knife.  He 
protested  that  he  had  told  me  nothing  but  'der  blain  druth' 
and  that  my  rug  was  'veil  vorth  efery  tollar  it  gost  me,  so 
hellup  him  hemill.' " 

"Why  didn't  you  get  some  of  the  fellows  together  and 
rush  him?"  asked  Cal. 

"Why,  I  didn't  consider  the  game  worth  the  candle.  I 
presume  he  was  bluffing.  Still  I  thought  it  was  best  not  to 
take  any  chances.  A  man  must  expect  to  pay  something, 
you  know,  for  a  college  education." 

"And  didn't  you  get  back  at  him  at  all?"  sighed  Cutty 
regretfully. 

"Yes,  in  a  way.  I  managed,  with  the  help  of  the  fellows, 
to  get  about  a  tub  of  waiter  onto  him  when  he  left  the  End. 
Of  course  it  didn't  bring  back  the  clothes,  but  still  I  slept 
better  for  it." 

"There  are  many  things  in  a  college  course  that  are  not 
dreamed  of  in  the  curriculum,"  said  the  Judge  wisely. 

"True  for  you,  Sir  Oracle,"  assented  Rex,  "but  why  all 
this  digression?  If  I  remember  correctly,  Cal  was  booked 
to  tell  us  why  he  had  it  in  for  Lon  tonight." 

"Oh,  there  isn't  much  to  that,"  said  Cal.  "I  had  a  visit 
last  week  from  a  great-aunt  of  mine.  She  was  on  her  wav 
to  Boston,  and  had  planned  to  leave  her  son,  a  boy  of  about 
fourteen  years  of  age,  with  me  during  the  week  of  her  visit 
there.  The  old  lady  is  a  Puritan  of  the  ancient  type;  but 
she  has  always  credited  me  with  habits  of  sobriety  and  a 
trustworthy  character." 

"She  probably  knew  you  best  when  you  were  younger," 
interposed  Pod. 

Broad  grins  greeted  this  sally ;  but  Cal  was  in  nowise  dis- 
concerted. 

195 


TALES    OF    BOWDOIN 

"Ot  course  I  gave  her  a  warm  welcome,"  he  continued, 
with  a  deprecatory  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  '*and  tried  to 
make  her  feel  at  home.  T  could  see,  however,  that  she  was 
impressed  with  the  idea  that  Satan  finds  a  larg-e  amount  of 
work  to  do  in  a  college  community.  She  frankly  told  me 
that  she  had  been  somewhat  loath  to  leave  her  young  hope- 
ful amid  the  snares  and  pitfalls  of  such  a  place.  I  was 
protesting  that  he  would  be  perfectly  safe  in  my  care ;  that 
I  would  watch  over  him  as  the  apple  of  my  eye,  when  I 
heard  Lon  calling  me  from  the  upper  floor.  I  opened  the 
door  into  the  hallway.     *  What's  wanted?'  I  asked. 

"Is  that  jug  there?' 

"What  jug?' 

"  'Why,  you  know,  that  punch.' 

"You  better  believe  I  was  hot.  'What  are  you  talking 
about?'  I  shouted  angrily,  'You  know  very  well  there's 
never  been  any  punch  here.'  " 

"What  did  he  say  to  that?"  asked  Shorty. 

"The  rascal!  He  laughed  a  skeptical  laugfh  and  said, 
*Is  it  possible  you've  drank  it  all  ?  I  thought  you  agreed  to 
save  it  for  our  next  poker  game.'  " 

"You  ought  to  have  gone  gunning  for  him,"  grinned 
Punk.     "What  did  the  old  lady  say?" 

"Well,  she  didn't  say  much,  but  she  looked  volumes. 
In  vain  I  protested  that  it  was  all  a  joke.  .  The  foundations 
of  her  faith  were  started.  She  said  she  hoped  I  was  still  a 
good  boy,  but  I  saw  very  plainly  that  she  had  her  serious 
doubts  about  it.  When  she  left  for  Boston,  an  hour  or  so 
later,  she  took  her  son  with  her." 

"Well,  that  was  a  roast,  for  a  fact,"  said  Punk;  "but  I 
guess  you've  squared  the  account.  Wake  up  there,  Pod !" 
he  added  in  louder  tones  to  Bennett,  who  was  dozing  on 

196 


A  smoke:  talk  in  no.  7 

the  sofa.  "What's  the  matter  with  you?  Seems  to  me 
you  don't  appreciate  good  society." 

"Oh,  my  appreciation's  all  right,"  said  Pod,  rousing  him- 
self to  a  sitting  posture ;  "but  those  riotous  Sophomores  kept 
me  awake  about  half  the  night.  Didn't  you  know  about 
that  ?" 

"No,  what  was  it?" 

"Why,  it  seems  they  had  a  pig  yarded  somewhere,  and 
about  midnight  they  towed  him  over  to  Memorial  hall  and 
put  him  into  the  Greek  recitation  room.  I  could  hear  him 
squealing  all  the  way  across  the  campus.  It's  a  wonder  they 
didn't  wake  up  the  whole  college." 

"A  childish  prank  forsooth,  and  what  said  the  Bird  this 
morning  ?" 

"Oh,  he  got  back  on  the  boys  all  right.  'I  see,  gentle- 
men,' he  remarked  blandly,  when  they  were  called  to  order, 
'that  a  new  member  has  joined  you,  and  I  trust  he  will  be 
able  to  make  as  good  a  showing  as  some  of  his  classmates.* 
They  didn't  lose  much  time  in  turning  him  out  after  that." 

"Who,  the  Bird?" 

"No,  child,  the  pig.  Somehow  the  Sophs  haven't  seemed 
disposed  to  say  much  about  the  matter  since." 

"Discussion  isn't  always  valuable,"  said  Cal  wisely.  "Do 
you  remember  the  time  we  smoked  out  Freshie  Fenlason  ?" 

"Well,  I  am  sure  that  was  a  success,"  said  Pegs. 

"Yes,  in  a  way,  but  I've  often  wondered  who  was  the 
sickest  that  night — we  or  the  Freshman." 

"I  am  convinced,  fellows,"  announced  the  Judge  with 
decision,  "that  there  are  many  forms  of  amusement  that 
yield  a  larger  and  more  satisfactory  return  on  the  invest- 
ment. By  the  way,  Cal,  here  we  are  well  into  the  spring 
term  of  Junior  year,  and,  if  my  memory  serves  me  right, 

197 


TAI,ES    OF    BOWDOIN 

that  whiskers  committee  of  which  you  were  chairman  in  our 
callow  Sophomore  days  has  never  yet  made  its  report." 

"Be  careful  of  your  adjectives,  my  friend.  'Callow' 
belongs  exclusively  to  Freshmen.  Didn't  you  ever  hear 
how  that  matter  came  out  ?" 

"Never.  I  knew  that  you  and  Pod  and  Stout  Wilson 
were  appointed  a  committee  of  three  with  authority  to 
remove  all  hirsute  appendages  from  the  cheeks  of  Freshman 
Bemis.  He  left  college  after  that  last  ducking  we  gave  him, 
and  you  have  never  had  anything  to  say  about  your  part  of 
the  program." 

"Was  there  really  a  sequel  ?"  asked  Cutty. 

"There  was,  my  boy;  but  'tell  it  not  in  Gath;  publish  it 
not  in  the  streets  of  Askelon.'  " 

"We're  mum ;  let's  have  it,"  said  Rex. 

"Well,  we  watched  for  a  good  opportunity  to  carry  out 
our  mission,  and  a  rainy  night,  soon  after,  seemed  to  furnish 
it,  especially  as  we  learned  that  Bem.is  had  gone  for  a  call 
on  a  lady  friend  after  supper.  We  were  provided  with 
scissors,  ropes,  black  cam.bric  masks,  a  dark  lantern,  about 
all  the  paraphernalia,  in  fact,  that  up-to-date  highwaymen 
are  supposed  to  carry.  We  kept  well  out  of  sight  on  the 
east  side  of  South  Winthrop,  where  Bemis  roomed,  and 
waited  patiently  for  him  to  put  in  an  appearance.  Finally 
Pegs,  who  was  doing  sentry  duty,  reported  that  he  was 
coming.  Just  as  he  reached  the  doorway,  we  closed  in  on 
him.  By  the  shades  of  old  Phi  Chi!  I  never  dreamed  the 
fellow  could  put  up  such  a  fight.  I  had  my  handkerchief 
in  his  mouth,  and  as  it  was  about  all  I  could  do  to  keep  it 
there,  the  laboring  oar  fell  to  Pod  and  Stout.  I  won't  go 
into  details  of  the  scrap.  All  of  us  were  pretty  well  winded, 
but  still  retained  some  clothing  when  we  finally  got  him 
tied  up." 

198 


THE    INTERIOR   OF   THE   CHAPEL. 


A  smokh:  talk  in  no.  7 

"What  did  you  do  with  him  then?"  asked  Dan,  who,  like 
the  rest,  was  following  the  narrative  with  deep  interest. 

"We  lugged  him  down  into  the  pines  and  flashed  a  lantern 
on  him,  and  who  do  you  suppose  he  turned  out  to  be  ?" 

"Why,  Bemis,  of  course,"  said  Shorty. 

"Bemis?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  He  was  Arthburton  of  the 
Junior  class." 

A  whistle  of  surprise  came  from  the  group. 

"Well,  you  were  in  for  it  for  a  fact,"  said  the  Judge. 

"What  did  you  do?"  asked  Punk. 

"Well,  I  cut  the  ropes  and  took  my  handkerchief  out  of 
his  mouth  for  the  first  thing." 

"To  give  the  oaths  a  chance,  I  suppose,"  ventured  Rex. 

"Not  at  all ;  that's  the  surprising  thing  about  it,  wasn't  it, 
Pod?" 

"You  could  have  knocked  me  down  with  a  feather," 
answered  Pod.  "I  never  saw  a  fellow  take  a  thing  so  coolly 
in  my  life." 

"And  what  did  he  remark?"  asked  Cutty. 

"Why,  he  just  laughed  and  said  very  quietly,  'Got  the 
wrong  pig  by  the  ear  this  time,  didn't  you  ?'  " 

"What  answer  did  you  make?" 

"Oh,  I  took  up  the  burden  of  the  song  right  there,"  said 
Cal.  "You  should  have  heard  my  humble  and  eloquent 
apology.'* 

"It  was  a  gem,"  assented  Pod. 

"How  did  he  take  it?"  asked  Dan. 

"In  a  most  unexpected  w^ay,"  said  Cal.  "We  were  bank- 
ing on  our  disguises  to  conceal  our  identity ;  but  they  didn't 
amount  to  shucks.  When  I  had  done  my  best  to  explain 
things,  he  remarked  with  a  dry  chuckle,  'Don't  say  another 
word,  Burke,  I'm  just  as  much  ashamed  of  it  as  you  are. 
If  you  don't  give  it  away,  I'm  sure  I  shall  not' — and  this  is 

199 


TAIvKS   O?    BOWDOIN 

the  first  time  I  ever  have ;  but,  of  course,"  he  added,  "this 
v^ill  go  no  further." 

"It  shall  rest  secure,  old  man,  in  the  honor  of  the  smoke 
circle,"  said  the  Judge. 

"So  say  we  all  of  us,"  was  the  comment  of  the  group. 

"By  the  way,  Punk,"  said  Cal,  "what  sinister  motive  had 
you  in  beguiling  that  little  yellow  dog  into  the  club  this 
noon  ?" 

"Didn't  you  see  the  whole  of  that?" 

"No,  I  was  just  leaving  as  you  were  coming  through  the 
pines." 

"Well,  It  was  all  for  Dave  Herrick's  benefit?" 

"Haven't  you  got  through  nagging  him  yet?" 

"I've  sworn  off  many  times,"  said  Punk  regretfully,  "but 
while  the  spirit  is  willing  the  flesh  is  weak.  I  hope  when 
Dave  is  finally  settled  over  some  thriving  church  he  will 
never  be  called  upon  to  deal  with  backsliders  like  me." 

"Well,  that's  all  interesting,  but  indefinite,"  said  Shorty 
impatiently.  "Now  perhaps  you  will  condescend  to  tell  us 
what  possible  bearing  a  dog  can  have  upon  Brother  Herrick, 
and  his  theological  aspirations." 

"It's  a  trial  of  faith  for  him,"  smiled  Punk.  "Didn't  you 
know  what  a  strong  aversion  he  has  to  the  canine  race?  I 
assure  you  it's  a  passion  with  him.  Now,  yesterday  I 
enticed  a  friendly  dog  into  the  club,  and  made  him  happy 
with  a  juicy  bone  behind  Dave's  chair.  Everything  went 
along  nicely  until  Herrick  happened  to  discover  him.  Then 
there  was  trouble." 

"What  did  our  embryo  minister  do  then  ?"  asked  Cutty. 

"He  rose  from  the  table  with  stately  dignity  and  stalked 
from  the  room,  as  mad  as  a  wet  hen.  'Pon  my  word,  he 
didn't  eat  another  mouthful  after  he  spied  that  dog.  Just 
think  of  that  for  Christian  charity !" 

200 


A  smoke:  talk  in  no.  7 

"That's  worse  than  the  mice,"  said  Pe^s. 

"What  of  them?"  grinned  Dan. 

"Why,  you  know  they  got  to  holding  carnival  in  Punk's 
coal  closet  on  the  crackers  and  cheese  he  keeps  there  for 
banquet  purposes." 

"Free  lunch  for  members  of  the  smoke  circle,  you  mean," 
interposed  Punk. 

"Genuine  luxury  for  the  rest  of  us  when  we  come  to 
count  the  cost,"  said  the  Judge,  "for,  of  course,  we  couldn't 
with  self  respect  think  of  a  return  in  kind." 

"That's  it,"  assented  Rex.  "Now  the  last  time  Punk 
dined  with  me  I  fed  him  on  cold  turkey." 

"And  I  always  suspected  that  it  cost  you  less  than  my 
more  humble  but  wholly  honest  fare,"  laughed  Punk. 

"Beware  of  personalities !"  said  Cal.  "It  is  never  wise  to 
be  reckless  with  the  truth.     What  about  the  mice,  Pegs?" 

"Well,  you  see.  Punk  got  tired  of  them  after  a  while,  and 
made  Nipper  Smith's  heart  glad  bv  buying  a  mousetrap  of 
himx.  The  first  night  he  had  it  set  he  caught  three,  and 
what  do  you  suppose  he  did  with  them  ^ 

"Turned  them  over  to  Pinkie  as  a  new  food  product." 

"No,  he  went  into  Merrick's  room  and  dropped  one  in 
each  of  the  side  pockets  of  his  reefer.  The  third  one  he  put 
in  the  pocket  of  his  study  jacket.  When  Dave  started  for 
the  club  that  mornmg,  he  felt  for  his  gloves.  They  were 
fur  trimmed,  and  he  was  so  busy  talking  that  he  didn't 
notice  anything  wrong  until  he  held  out  the  mouse  in  the 
palm  of  his  hand.  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  his  eyes  stick 
out,  and  heard  the  yell  he  gave.  Talk  about  jumping 
Frenchm.en!  They  simply  wouldn't  have  been  in  it.  We 
were  about  half  way  through  the  pines  when  he  dropped  on 
to  the  second  one,  and  he  made  another  jump,  not  quite  so 
high  as  the  fii  st,  but  still  sufficiently  so  to  have  landed  him 

20I 


TAIvES    OF    BOWDOIN 

a  winner  in  the  field  day  contests.  'Blast  those  boys!'  he 
said.  It  was  the  nearest  I  ever  heard  Dave  come  to  swear- 
ing. *I  believe  they've  filled  every  pocket  in  my  coat  with 
dead  mice.'  Then  he  made  a  very  careful  search  of  the  gar- 
ment before  he  was  fully  satisfied  that  he  had  seen  the  last 
of  them.  I  strolled  into  his  room  after  dinner  to  see  him 
don  that  rainbow  jacket  of  his,  and  settle  into  that  big  easy 
chair  before  the  grate.  It's  funny  how  a  man  can  enjoy 
hibernating  that  wfay ;  but  there's  no  accounting  for  tastes." 

"No,  I  don't  think,  Pegs,  that  you  are  constituted  just 
right  to  fully  apreciate  a  dig"  smiled  Cal,  "but  go  on.     How 
did  Dave  perform  when  he  found  that  third  mouse  ?" 
perform  when  he  found  that  third  mouse  ?" 

"He  was  busy  boning  out  his  Psychology  when  he  finally 
felt  it,  and  the  jump  he  gave  landed  him  about  half  way 
across  the  floor.  He  looked  at  me  with  sudden  suspicion. 
^Did  you  put  that  mouse  there?'  he  demanded. 

"  'Certainly  not,'  I  answered  with  injured  dignity.  'What 
have  I  ever  done  that  you  should  insult  me  with  such  a  sus- 
picion ?' 

"  'I  sincerely  beg  your  pardon,  Derrill,'  he  said.  'This  is 
the  third  one  I've  found  in  my  pockets  today,  and  the  joke 
is  getting  a  trifle  monotonous.'  'I  didn't  notice  anything 
monotonous  in  your  movements  just  now.'  I  answered. 
"Tm  going  to  make  an  end  of  it,'  he  said  with  decision,  and 
thereupon  he  made  a  most  careful  search  of  his  room.  Not 
a  place  big  enough  to  hide  a  grasshopper  was  overlooked." 

"And  you?"  interposed  Punk. 

"Me?  Oh,  I  waited  'round  till  he  was  doing:  the  bed- 
room, then  fished  the  last  mouse  he  had  discovered  from  the 
comer  of  the  grate  where  he  had  thrown  it,  dropped  it  into 
his  reefer  pocket,  and  came  home." 

The  group  laughed  its  approval  of  the  narrative. 

202 


A   SMOKS   TALK    IN    NO.    7 

"Dave  discovered  that  mouse  the  next  morning^/'  added 
Punk,  "and  now  he  lays  the  whole  thing:  to  Pegs.  It  is 
fortunate,  howe\^er,  for  me,  for  it  has  done  much  to  reinstate 
me  in  his  good  graces." 

Cutty  rose  and  stretched  himself  with  a  yawn. 

"Where  are  you  going,  early  bird?"  asked  Dan. 

"My  fire  is  out,  and  I  am  under  the  painful  necessity  of 
appropriating  a  section  of  the  attic  floor." 

"ril  hold  the  light  for  you  if  you'll  cut  up  some  for  me 
while  you're  about  it." 

"Thanks,  my  lord!  Your  self-sacrificing  spirit  touches 
me  deeply." 

"You  might  make  a  bee  of  it,  Cutty,"  said  the  Judge 
gravely.  "The  rest  of  us  will  take  hold  with  you,  and  do 
the  heavy  looking  on." 

"In  the  words  of  the  late  lamented  Artemus  Ward,  'This 
is  too  much,  too  much.'  On  the  whole  I  think  we  had 
better  work  the  thing  on  shares — each  one  his  own  share. 
Cal  can  come  in  on  the  average  repairs.  Good  night,  old 
man." 

"Good  night,"  chorused  the  others  as  they  followed  Cutty 
into  the  hall. 

"So  long,  fellows,"  answered  Cal  as  the  door  closed  upon 
his  departing  guests. 

"A  little  nonsense  now  and  then,  is  relished  by  the  wisest 
men,'*  murmured  Burke  as  alone  with  himself  he  turned  to 
the  windx>w  and  stood,  absorbed  in  his  own  reflections,  look- 
ing out  upon  the  campus.  The  mellow  light  of  the  new 
moon  lent  a  magic  charm  to  the  scene.  Never  had  it 
appeared  more  beautiful  to  Cal  than  at  this  moment  when 
nature  awakened  from  its  Winter's  sleep  by  the  warm  touch 
of  Spring  was  budding  forth  in  the  fullness  and  perfection 
of  life.     The  incense  of  opening  buds  and  blossoms  was  in 

203 


TAI,ES    01?    BOWDOIN 

the  softened  air,  and  even  the  strident  notes  of  the  crickets 
had  a  music  and  an  inspiration.  He  was  aroused  from  his 
reverie  by  the  distant  singing  of  a  party  of  students  roister- 
ing homeward  from  a  supper  at  "The  Midnight." 

••Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 
And  never  brought  to  mind? 
Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 
And  days  of  auld  lang  syne." 

The  clear  young  voices  came  very  distinctly  upon  the 
evening  air,  and  a  shadow  crossed  the  listener's  face. 
Alas !  how  soon  this  happy  life  with  its  pleasant  associa- 
tions and  inspiring  opportunities  must  pass  away ! 

With  a  sigh  Burke  turned  to  his  desk  and  was  soon 
absorbed  in  the  morrow's  lessons.  His  room-mate,  return- 
ing from  the  German  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  flushed 
and  happy  in  the  consciousness  of  a  social  success,  found 
him  still  busy  with  his  tasks. 

''Hard  at  it,  old  man?"  he  called  cheerily. 

Burke  rose  a  little  wearily,  and  rested  a  hand  lightly  upon 
his  room-mate's  shoulder.  "Welcome  home,  my  boy,"  he 
said.     "I  see  this  has  been  your  night." 

Interchanges  of  sentiment  never  found  expression  in 
words  between  these  two.  They  would  have  looked  upon 
them  as  weak  and  effeminate ;  but  each  knew  and  under- 
stood the  other. 

"Yes,  it  was  a  success,"  said  Remick. 

"And  you  won't  mind  my  little  pleasantry  of  the  early 
evening?"  continued  the  other. 

Remick  smiled  happily,  and  there  was  a  world  of  affec- 
tionate good-feilowship  in  the  warm  clasp  he  gave  the  out- 
stretched hand  of  his  friend,  as  he  answered  heartily,  "Don't 
mention  it,  old  man." 

204 


HOW  TRIANGLE  WON 

Thomas  Littlefield  Marble,  '98 


HOW  TRIANGLE  WON 

S(^ROUP  of  undergraduates  stood  before  the  Chapel 
bulletin-board  reading  the  annual  announcement  that 
the  celebrated  race  horse,  Triangle,  2.145^,  owned  by  Bow- 
doin's  well  known  professor  of  Mathematics,  would  start  in 
the  free-for-all  at  the  coming  Topsham  Fair,  and  that  those 
students  who  so  desired  might  obtain  complimentary  tickets 
for  the  event  at  the  Library. 

"They  say  the  old  horse  is  in  the  pink  of  condition," 
remarked  one  of  the  group. 

"It's  true,''  replied  Ted  Copley,  a  Sophomore  of  sporting 
proclivities.  "I  saw  him  step  the  last  quarter  of  a  work- 
out mile  yesterday  at  a  'ten  clip.  I  was  more  interested  than 
usual  because  we  have  entered  a  horse  from  the  Farm  this 
year  which  father  has  promised  to  let  me  drive — just  for 
Sophomoric  glory,  you  know — and  I  should  hate  like  the 
deuce  to  be  beaten  by  a  razor-backed  skate  like  Triangle." 

"  'Razor-backed'  is  good,"  laughed  a  tall  Junior.  "The  old 
horse  is  well  named — he  looks  like  a  triangle." 

"Yes,  he  is  a  trifle  angular,"  declared  another,  "but  it  isn't 
surprising,  for  he  feeds  on  logarithms,  I  understand." 

Tony  Davenport,  a  Freshman  for  whose  edification  the 
above  conversation  had  taken  place,  turned  from  the  bul- 
letin-board with  a  smile  of  derision. 

"You  fellows  must  think  I'm  easy,"  said  he. 

"Oh,  this  is  no  jolly,"  exclaimed  Ted  Copley,  with  an  air 
of  injured  innocence. 

207 


TALES    OF    BOVVDOIN 

"Look  her6,  Ted,"  interrupted  Tony^  "you  know  just  as 
well  as  I  do  that  there  isn't  a  horse  in  the  State  by  the  name 
of  Triangle  with  a  mark  of  'fourteen  and  a  half." 

"Ho,  ho,  Fresh!"  Ted  ejaculated.  "We  know  a  great 
deal,  don't  we?"  Then  turning  to  the  bystanders,  "Gentle- 
men, this  is  Mr.  Tony  Davenport  of  the  Mazeppa  Stock 
Farm ;  you  will  find  Mr.  Davenport  an  authority  on  all  kinds 
of  horses  from  quadrupeds  to  interlinears." 

Tony  joined  in  the  laugh  which  this  speech  occasioned, 
then,  leaving  the  group,  strolled  leisurely  toward  the  End — 
leisurely,  I  repeat,  despite  the  fact  that  a  bag-  of  water  hurled 
by  some  vigilant  Sophomore  from  a  dormitorv  window  fell 
at  his  feet  with  a  thud  and  a  splash.  But  the  first  few 
weeks  of  college  life  had  inured  Tony  to  the  tribulations  of 
Freshman  year,  and,  though  oftentimes  inwardly  raging,  he 
submitted  to  the  thousand  and  one  annoyances  that  Fresh- 
man flesh  is  heir  to  with  a  calm  exterior  and  a  tantalizing 
smile. 

Several  days  later  there  appeared  in  the  local  columns  of 
the  Orient  the  following  item : 

"It  is  rumored  that  the  owner  of  Triangle  will  be  unable  to  drive  hia 
favorite  at  the  Topsham  Fair  this  season,  and  that  Tony  Davenport  of  the 
Freshman  class  will  handle  the  ribbons  in  his  stead.  Young  Mr.  Daven- 
port is  a  worthy  scion  of  the  well  known  horseman,  Woodbury  Davenport, 
proprietor  of  the  Mazeppa  Stock  Farm,  and  this  fact  alone  is  sufficient 
guarantee  of  his  ability  as  a  reinsman." 

Apparently  no  one  was  more  amused  at  this  paragraph 
than  Tony,  yet  all  the  while  he  was  longing  for  an  oppor- 
tunity to  turn  the  tables  on  his  friends,  the  Sophomores.  It 
was  the  Orient  item  itself  which  at  length  suggested  to  him 
the  means  of  accomplishing  his  wish ;  but  the  means  so  sug- 

208 


HOW  triangle:  won 

gested  required  the  approval  and  co-operation  of  Tony's 
father. 

"'Hoc  opus,  hie  labor  est,'"  quoted  Tony,  who  still 
remembered  his  Virgil,  "which  being  freely  translated 
means,  That's  the  devil  of  it.' " 

Yet  Mr.  Davenport  was  so  indulgent  a  father  that  Tony 
did  not  entirely  despair  of  success. 

About  a  week  before  the  opening  of  the  Topsham  Fair, 
Mr.  Davenport  received  from  his  son  a  letter  couched  in  the 
most  persuasive  terms.  The  letter  began  by  explaining  the 
custom  among  Bowdoin  Sophomores  of  issuing  each  fall  a 
poster  advertising  the  appearance  at  the  Topsham  Fair  of 
the  horse.  Triangle,  said  to  be  owned  by  the  professor  of 
Mlathematics.  "Of  course,"  wrote  Tony,  "no  such  horse 
exists,  and  the  poster  is  printed  simply  in  the  hope  that  some 
gullible  Freshman  will  ask  at  the  Library  or  treasurer's 
office  for  tickets  to  the  Fair  grounds  the  day  Triangle 
trots, — tickets  which  the  poster  asserts  may  be  obtained  free 
of  charge.  This  year,  however,  it  is  claimed  that  Triangle 
will  be  driven  by  no  less  a  person  than  ypur  dutiful  son,  as 
the  enclosed  clipping  will  bear  witness.  Now,  father  dear," 
(Tony  was  nothing  if  not  diplomatic)  "what  I  am  coming 
at  is  this :  the  bay  colt,  which  you  intend  to  start  in  the  big 
stake  races  next  season,  has  never  been  registered,  and  is 
consequently  without  a  name.  Why  can't  you  enter  him 
under  the  name  of  Triangle  in  the  free-for-all  at  Topsham, 
and  let  me  drive  him  ?  I  know  it  is  asking  a  good  deal,  but 
if  the  colt  is  fast  enough  to  win  the  race — ^and  I  think  he 
is — he  will  certainly  be  a  good  horse  in  his  class  another 
season.  If  he  doesn't  win,  he  is  still  eligible  for  the  stake 
races,  and  no  harm  has  been  done.  Should  you  care  to  enter 
any  of  the  other  horses,  the  purses  at  Topsham  are  large 
enough  to  make  it  worth  while."  Then  came  the  climax. 
M  209 


TAI,F,S    OF    BOWDOIN 

"The  Copley  Farm  will  send  a  string  of  horses,  and  Ted 
Copley,  wearing  the  Sophomore  colors,  expects  to  drive 
Cristo.  If  I  could  beat  him,  I  should  be  the  happiest  Fresh- 
man in  Brunswick." 

To  make  the  story  brief,  Mr.  Davenport  proved  respon- 
sive to  his  son's  wishes.  Consequently,  the  printed  list  of 
entries  for  the  Sagadahoc  County  Fair  that  season  contained 
the  names  of  Triangle  and  Cristo,  entered  by  the  great  rival 
training  stables,  the  Mazeppa  and  the  Copley  Farms.  At 
first  the  college  looked  upon  the  matter  as  part  and  parcel 
of  the  venerable  "Triangle"  joke,  but  the  arrival  of  a  hand- 
some bay  colt,  in  charge  of  grooms  from  the  Mazeppa 
Farm,  at  the  Topsham  Fair  grounds  one  morning  set  the 
little  college  world  agog,  and  the  truth  was  soon  apparent. 
Unbeknown  to  their  wily  rivals,  the  Freshmen  held  a  meet- 
ing to  select  class  colors,  which  Tony  was  authorized  to 
wear  in  the  coming  contest.  Then,  with  unconcealed  eager- 
ness, all  awaited  the  opening  of  the  Fair. 

The  eventful  day  came  at  last,  and  never  did  the  Manu- 
facturer of  Weather  present  a  finer  sample  of  his  handi- 
work. In  the  ruddy  glow  of  October,  dear  old  Bowdoin 
seemed  most  literally  to  possess  the  "dignity  of  age  without 
its  infirmities."  Above  the  tops  of  Brunswick's  famous 
"groves  of  pine"  rose  the  sun,  clear  and  bright,  to  gladden 
the  heart  of  many  an  anxious  student;  for  "adioums"  had 
been  granted,  and  an  adjourn  without  sunshine  is  salt  with- 
out its  savor.  Whiter  than  ever  gleamed  the  "foam  on 
Androscoggin's  falls,"  while  on  the  heights  above,  sentinel- 
like, stood  the  old  red  stand-pipe,  lending  a  dash  of  color  to 
the  somber  hues  of  the  distant  landscape.  So  calm  and 
peaceful  was  the  day  that  it  seemed  a  sacrilege  to  rouse 
sedate  old  Topsham  from  her  proverbial  sleep. 

210 


HOW  triangle;  won 

Early  in  the  afternoon,  large  numbers  of  students  flocked 
to  the  Fair  grounds,  where  the  Sophomores,  more  jubilant 
than  the  rest,  were  strikingly  conspicuous.  Here  divers 
'Varsity  ball  players  essayed  their  skill  in  "hitting  the  nig- 
ger's head" ;  there  a  group  of  upperclassmen  could  be  seen, 
chatting  merrily  with  a  galaxy  of  the  fair  sex  from  the  Ship- 
ping City, — everywhere,  that  boisterous  abandon  so  charac- 
teristic of  the  Topsham  Fair.  The  commanding  voice  of 
the  marshal  "calling  up"  the  free-for-all  sent  each  group 
with  a  common  impulse  to  the  grand  stand. 

The  horses  were  out  when  Tony,  cool  and  collected, 
received  from  old  John  Maguire,  the  driver  of  the  Farm,  the 
whip  with  which  John  had  urged  so  many  gallant  racers  to 
victory.  The  talent  had  picked  Cristo  and  Triangle  as 
probable  winners,  for  if  the  future  can  be  predicted  from 
the  past,  it  was  extremely  unlikely  that  either  the  Copley  or 
the  Mazeppa  Farm  would  start  a  horse  without  fair  chances 
of  success.  But  the  drivers  of  the  favorites  were  inexperi- 
enced college  youths,  and  in  that  fact  lay  the  hopes  of  the 
less  speedy  contestants. 

Tony  regarded  it  as  a  good  omen  that  he  should  draw  the 
last  position,  for  old  John  had  cautioned  him  against  setting 
the  pace,  and  had  advised  him  to  trail  the  field  if  possible. 
Starting  in  this  position  made  it  far  easier  to  follow  John's 
instructions.  With  a  parting  nod  to  his  father,  who  occu- 
pied a  seat  of  honor  in  the  judges'  stand,  Tony  mounted  the 
sulky  and  jogged  Triangle  slowly  up  the  stretch.  By  this 
time  Tony's  self-possession  had  deserted  him,  he  was 
trembling  violently,  and  his  heart  fairly  leaped  with  fright. 
He  was  dimly  conscious  that  the  horses  were  turning,  and 
that  Cristo  was  next  the  pole.  Triangle,  whose  education 
had  been  thorough,  swung  into  line  with  little  guidance,  and 
the  race  was  on.     Twice  the  harsh  jangling  of  the  starter's 

211 


TAI,ES    OF    BOWDOIN 

bell  called  the  horses  back,  and  with  each  delay  Tony's 
nervousness  increased.  For  the  third  time  they  turned  at 
the  flag,  as  the  starter's  voice  came  to  them  through  the 
megaphone:  ''Turn  slowly!  Take  back  to  the  pole  horse! 
Take  back!     Go!" 

The  whir  of  pneumatic  tires,  the  pounding  of  horses' 
hoofs  on  the  hard  clay  of  the  track,  a  rushing  sound  like  the 
roar  of  a  cataract,  and  the  great  field  of  horses  swept  by  the 
grand  stand.  The  pace  was  terrific.  It  seemed  to  Tony 
that  some  invisible  yet  relentless  force  was  dragging  him  to 
destruction.  His  breath  came  in  convulsive  gasps,  and  he 
felt  so  faint  and  dizzy  that  it  required  a  supreme  effort  of 
will  to  keep  his  seat.  The  reins,  which  till  now  he  had 
grasped  mechanically,  slipped  through  his  fingers  the  frac- 
tion of  an  inch;  there  was  a  sudden  slackening  of  tension, 
then  a  violent  tug.  The  colt,  finding  the  pressure  of  the  bit 
for  the  moment  relaxed,  missed  his  stride  and  broke.  But 
Tony's  was  a  character  which  adversity  strengthens,  and 
instead  of  cursing  the  fate  which  had  unnerved  him  in  this 
crisis,  he  set  about  to  repair  the  mischief  he  had  wrought. 
A  strong  breeze  blowing  down  the  back  stretch  cleared  his 
brain  and  steadied  his  nerve.  A  firm,  even  pull  on  the  bit 
brought  the  colt  to  a  square  trot,  and  then  in  spite  of  old 
John's  advice  not  to  do  any  ''grand  stand  teaming,"  but  to 
limit  his  horizon  to  his  horse's  ears,  Tony  coolly  surveyed 
the  field.  Close  behind  him  an  erratic  gray  gelding  was 
duplicating  Triangle's  performance,  while  the  other  horses 
were  some  lengths  in  front,  closely  bunched. 

With  the  mechanism  of  perfect  machinery,  Triangle 
moved  forward,  and  at  the  turn  had  lessened  quite  percep- 
tibly the  distance  between  himself  and  the  leaders.  Mean- 
time, Ted  was  contenting  himself  with  second  position, 
while  the  chestnut  mare,  Rowena,  led  the  procession  with 

212 


HOW    TRIANGI^Ii    WON 

apparent  ease.  At  the  half,  Triangle  slipped  into  third 
place,  and  the  cheers  of  Tony's  classmates  soon  gave  way 
to  the  Sophomore  yell,  as  Cristo,  with  a  brilliant  burst  of 
speed,  took  the  pole  from  Rowena.  Once  headed,  the  little 
mare  lost  heart,  and  at  the  three-quarters  mark  yielded  her 
place  to  Triangle.  Cristo  was  now  a  good  two  lengths  in 
the  lead,  and  Tony  realized  that  the  decisive  moment  had 
come.  Slowly  and  without  lessening  the  pressure  of  the 
bit,  he  transferred  the  reins  to  his  left  hand  and  reached  for 
the  whip.  The  colt  responded  nobly,  and  as  they  swung 
into  the  stretch,  was  close  to  Cristo's  sulkv  wheel.  Again 
the  whip  descended,  and  again  the  speed  increased.  Inch 
by  inch  Triangle  crept  upon  his  rival.  Neck  and  neck  they 
swept  down  the  stretch  with  the  wire  scarce  twenty  yards 
ahead.  Neither  had  the  advantage  now,  and  the  least  mis- 
take would  prove  fatal.  Ted  knew  that  an  increase  of  pace, 
however  slight,  would  win  the  day.  Cristo  had  always 
finished  with  a  rush.  Could  he  be  rehed  on  now?  Ted 
thought  so.  Thrice  the  whip  lashed  Cristo's  flank,  but  the 
noble  horse  had  reached  his  limit.  Tony  saw  the  striped 
nose  tossed  high  in  the  air,  and  realized  with  savage  joy 
that  Ted  had  forced  his  horse  to  a  break.  The  next  instant, 
Triangle  shot  under  the  wire,  the  winner  of  the  heat. 

It  was  the  crucial  test.  There  coursed  through  Triangle's 
veins  the  blood  of  countless  race  horses  with  not  a  single 
"quitter"  in  the  list.  True  to  his  illustrious  ancestry,  he 
proved  unfaltering  in  the  successive  heats,  and  passed  the 
wire  for  the  last  time  amid  the  plaudits  of  a  host  of 
admirers. 

As  for  Tony,  no  words  can  describe  his  excessive  happi- 
ness, for  the  Sophomore  champion  had  been  defeated,  and 
Triangle  was  no  longer  a  fiction. 

211 


TALES   OF    BOWDOIN 

After  the  race  the  Freshmen  chartered  an  electric,  and 
rode  back  to  Brunswick  singing  "Phi  Chi."  The  Sopho- 
mores held  them  in  Chapel  the  next  morning,  to  be  sure,  but 
in  view  of  their  recent  victory,  even  that  humiliation  seemed 
slight. 


AT  THE  ALTAR  OF  TRADITION 

George;  Brinton  CnANDiyER,  '90 


AT  THE  SLTAR  Or   TRADITION 

WE  are  all  more  or  less  Pharisees.  We  like  to  indulge 
in  wise  head-shakings  over  things  forbidden,  while 
outlaw  memories  still  linger  in  the  recesses  of  our  affections 
and  give  the  lie  to  our  grave  and  ceremonious  faces.  The 
same  bald-headed  drove  of  parsons,  doctors,  and  lawyers 
who  always  declaim  virtuously  against  the  latest  hazing  out- 
rage, may  be  seen  congregated  in  little  knots  about  the 
campus  each  Commencement,  swapping  yams  (that  have 
not  lost  incident  and  color  with  time)  and  making  the  wel- 
kin ring  with  bursts  of  unholy  laughter.  The  time  they 
shaved  Watkins'  head  and  proclaimed  him  "the  only  and 
original  human  billiard  ball,"  or  the  night  the  Green  boys 
were  put  through  the  shirt-tail  drill,  comes  back  to  them 
from  the  fugitive  past  with  all  the  flavor  and  zest  of  youth. 
And  when  at  Commencement  dinner  the  band  strikes  up 
old  "Phi  Chi,"  lo  Ben  Adhem's  voice  leads  all  the  rest ! 

Hazing  is  passing  away.  It  had  to.  The  inexorable  tri- 
bunal of  public  sentiment,  which  possesses  the  power  to 
grant  or  withhold  students  and  funds,  'has  declared  against 
it.  So  has  Congress.  It  often  crushed  timid  spirits. 
Occasionally  it  broke  them.  On  the  other  hand  it  gave 
many  bumptious  youths  their  first  genuine  taste  of  the 
wholesome  trutli,  that  he  who  runs  counter  to  established 
usages  must  be  bruised.  It  is  also  a  drastic  application  of 
the  law  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest.  It  either  exterminates 
or  develops.     Of  the  number  of  lights  it  has  put  out  we 

217 


TALKS    OF    BOWDOIN 

have  no  means  of  telling ;  neither  can  we  know  how  many- 
may  have  been  trimmed  and  fed  by  it.  But  certain  it  is  that 
the  generations  of  Englishmen  who  fagged  and  were  fagged, 
and  the  generations  of  young  Americans  who  hazed  and  were 
hazed,  have  small  need  to  apologize  for  the  part  they,  have 
borne  in  the  strife  and  stress  of  a  splendid  century.  Though 
the  old  custom  be  an  evil,  perhaps  it  has  not  been  an 
unmixed  one.  But  all  this  is  apart  from  the  question.  We 
need  not  haggle  about  it  now.  Football  and  the  more  rug- 
ged athletic  sports  have  come  to  take  its  place  and  perform 
more  rationally  and  efficiently  the  same  saving  part. 

In  Bowdoin  College  the  two  Greek  letters,  ^  X,  usually 
accompanied  by  skull  and  crossbones,  have  long  stood  as 
the  peculiar  symbol  of  hazing.  Phi  Chi  (pronounced  with 
a  long  i  according  to  the  old  method)  formerly  was  used  to 
designate  a  Sophomore  secret  society  which  lived  and  flour- 
ished throughout  the  'sixties  and  'seventies,  and  maintained 
an  intermittent  warfare  with  society  in  general  and  the  Fac- 
ulty in  particular,  until  finally  it  came  into  collision  with  the 
principles  of  latter-day  civilization  and  was  wiped  out  of 
existence.  But,  like  old  John  Brown  of  Ossawattomie,  its 
soul  goes  marching  on  Its  purf>ose  and  intent  was  to  main- 
tain the  functions  and  ideals  of  orthodox  sophomority,  and 
to  harry  and  chastise  obstreperous  Freshmen.  Within  its 
limitations,  it  was  tremendously  efficient.  The  words  "Phi 
Chi"  have  become  historic.  With  their  ominous  and  sepul- 
chral accompaniment,  they  have  carried  terror  to  the  hearts 
of  many  succeeding  classes,  and  long  after  the  society  as  an 
organization  had  ceased  to  exist  they  remained  the  audible 
rallying  cry  and  visible  badge  of  that  rude  justice  whereby 
the  sons  of  the  Puritans  held  fast  the  landmarks  of  special 
privilege.     They  rq)resent  the  worship  of  precedent  and  the 

218 


AT  the:   AT^TAR   op   tradition 

rule  of  conservatism.     In  this,  at  least,  they  may  not  have 
been  wholly  bad. 

As  might  be  well  expected,  so  significant  and  valiant  an 
institution  was  not  without  its  characteristic  song — old  "Phi 
Chi,"  from  the  pen  of  E.  P.  Mitchell,  '71,  now  the  brilliant 
New  York  editor.  From  the  battle  hymn  of  a  defunct 
society,  it  has  arisen  in  the  fullness  of  time  to  the  dignity  of 
a  college  epic,  and  has  even  been  borrowed  by  some  of  our 
sister  colleges  which  never  knew  Phi  Chi  and  know  nothing 
of  its  traditions.  It  is  sung  to  the  martial  strains  of  "March- 
ing Through  Georgia ;"  and,  like  "Dixie"  in  the  South,  it  is 
the  haunting  refram  of  a  lost  cause.  It  is  in  the  mouths  of 
all  Sophomores  and  upperclassmen.  It  may  be  heard  of 
Summer  evenings,  sung  by  groups  of  students  on  the 
campus ;  it  is  the  battle  song  of  intercollegiate  contests ;  and 
in  the  long  Winter  evenings,  when  tasks  are  burdensome  and 
time  hangs  heavy,  it  is  a  perpetual  solace  and  inspiration. 
No  Commencement  dinner,  no  assembling  of  the  sons  in 
distant  cities,  is  formal  and  complete  without  its  stirring 
measures. 

PHI  CHI. 

There's  a  baby  born  to  Bowdoin,  boys, 

Way  back  in  'Sixty-four, 
Who's  thundered  for  admission 

At  many  a  Freshman's  door; 
And,  thanks  to  God  and , 

She'll  thunder  evermore, 
For  Phi  Chl's  in  her  ancient  glory ! 

Chorus. 
Hurrah !    Hurrah !    Hurrah,  for  old  Phi  Chi ! 

Hurrah !    Hurrah !    And  may  she  never  die ! 
While  pluck  beats  luck,  and  the  Prex.  is  stuck, 

And  the  Profs,  are  high  and  dry, 
We  will  follow  her  to  glory. 

2IQ 


TAI,F,S    OF    BOWDOIN 

Swing  out  the  brave  old  banner,  boys ; 

The  resurrection's  come. 
Swing  out  the  horn  of  plenty, 

And  the  old  ancestral  drum. 
Bring  out  the  pondrous  hewgaw, 

That  has  made  Gomorrah  hum; 
For  Phi  Chi's  in  her  ancient  glory. 
Chorus. 

There  are  pails  and  there  are  windows, 

And  there's  water  in  the  well; 
As  the  Freshman  will  discover 

If  he  tries  to  cut  a  swell. 
Cold  water  for  his  diet, 

Till  existence  is  a  hell. 
For  Phi  Chi's  in  her  ancient  glory. 

CHOKU8. 

Bring  forth  the  grinning  skeleton, 

And  close  the  coflSn  lid; 
And  screw  the  Freshman  in  it. 

Till  his  infant  form  is  hid. 
For  he  must  learn  that  he  must  do 

Precisely  as  he's  bid ; 
For  Phi  Chi's  in  her  ancient  glory. 
Chorus. 

This  indefinable  combination  of  song  and  symbol  stood, 
too,  as  the  especial  mark  of  emancipation  from  the  servitude 
of  Freshmandom.  No  member  of  the  first  year's  class  used 
to  be  permitted  to  give  utterance  to  the  words  "Phi  Chi"  in 
the  presence  of  an  upperclassman.  He  might  not  print  the 
symbols  by  chalk,  pencil,  pen,  or  any  other  means  or  imple- 
ment whatsoever.  Neither  might  he  permit  it  to  remain 
upon  any  of  his  impedimenta  or  belongings,  if  printed  there 
by  another  person.  Neither  might  he  sing,  hum,  or  give 
other  musical  utterance  to,  any  bar  or  measure  of  the  song 
of  Phi  Chi,  or  the  air  upon  which  it  is  based.  The  penalty 
for  such  offense  is  to  be  spoken  of  darkly  and  in  secret 
places.  The  Freshman  was  supposed  to  emerge  from  his 
cocoon  at  the  completion  of  his  final  examinations  for  the 
year,  when  he  blossomed  forth  with  silk  hat  and  cane,  and 

220 


IN  THE  FALL  OF 


AT   THE   ALTAR   OF   TRADITION 

marched  across  the  campus  in  a  body  prior  to  taking  his 
departure  for  Portland;  where  from  time  immemorial  has 
been  held  the  annual  Freshman  dinner.  Such  was  the  old 
dispensation.  All  of  this  came  to  be  as  much  a  part  of  the 
traditions  of  Bowdoin  College  as  Longfellow,  Hawthorne, 
Elijah  Kellogg,  Parker  Cleaveland,  the  "Thomdike  Oak," 
the  "Whispering  Pines";  or  Professor  "Cosine"  Smith's 
horse,  "Triangle,"  and  the  famous  gig  with  elliptical  wheels. 

When,  therefore,  upon  one  crisp  morning:  in  the  Fall  of 
1888  a  white  banner,  bearing  jauntily  the  figures  of  the  year 
of  the  Freshman  class  alongside  the  privileged  letters  of 
Phi  Chi,  was  found  floating  from  the  pinnacle  of  the  north 
spire  of  King's  Chapel,  there  was  panic  and  consternation  in 
the  ranks  of  the  class  of  'Ninety.  Ancient  prerogatives  had 
been  challenged,  and  the  organic  law  of  the  institution  had 
been  rudely  violated.  It  was  the  most  daringly  revolu- 
tionary act  of  undergraduate  history.  'Ninety  was  loaded 
with  ridicule  and  contumely.  The  upperclassmen  hooted 
and  jeered  at  us;  the  Freshmen  became  perceptibly  insub- 
ordinate; the  Faculty  indulged  in  covert  smiles  and  half- 
phrased  innuendoes;  and,  as  if  to  add  a  final  straw  to  our 
burden  of  perplexity  and  humiliation,  the  y aggers  became 
all  at  once  significantly  insolent  and  aggressive.  A  general 
"yagger  war"  came  near  being  precipitated  by  an  attack 
made  by  them  upon  a  foraging  party  of  Sophomores,  which 
was  returning  with  a  "set  up"  that  had  been  commandeered 
from  Bill  Field's  on  the  account  of  some  opulent  and  obnox- 
ious Freshman. 

It  was  undoubtedly  the  critical  period  of  'Ninety's  his- 
tory. Who  could  have  been  the  culprit?  How  had  the 
daring  offense  been  committed?  If  found,  how  should  the 
offender  be  adequately  punished  ?  And,  finally,  how  should 
the  haunting  emblem  be  removed  from  the  Chapel  spire  ? 

221 


TAI^ES    OF    BOWDOIN 

We  were  not  long  in  finding  a  solution  to  the  first  of  our 
problems  in  the  continued  absence  from  chapel  exercises  and 
recitations  of  a  quiet,  unobtrusive  Freshman,  whom  a  few 
of  the  Sophomores  recalled  by  the  name  of  "Cilley."  John 
Cilley  was  at  that  time  a  ruddy-cheeked  lad,  under  medium 
height,  but  with  square  shoulders,  erect  bearing  and  com- 
pact, muscular  build.  The  circumstance  that  he  wore  spec- 
tacles may  have  given  to  the  unobserving  a  first  impression 
of  effeminacy.  Upon  his  own  initiative  and  unassisted  he 
had  climbed  hand-over-hand  a  distance  of  one  hundred  and 
twenty  feet,  by  means  of  the  lightning  rod,  and  had  fastened 
to  the  pinnacle  of  the  spire  the  colors  of  his  class.  His  con- 
tinued absence  from  regular  college  exercises  had  been  due 
to  a  fall  of  twenty  or  thirty  feet  from  the  rod  to  what  was 
then  the  old  Museum.  His  hands,  also,  had  been  lacerated 
from  contact  with  the  rod  and  staples.  The  feat  had  been 
performed  in  the  night.  It  was  the  daring-  act  of  a  resolute 
spirit.  John  Cilley  subsequently  came  to  be  respected  in 
Bowdoin  College,  even  more  for  his  ability  as  an  oarsman 
and  general  athlete  and  for  his  high  qualities  as  a  student 
and  man  than  he  was  at  this  time  admired  for  his  brave  and 
spectacular  achievement.  When,  a  few  years  after  his  grad- 
uation, he  was  called  out  to  the  great  Beyond,  the  young 
manhood  of  his  generation  sustained  a  grave  and  irreparable 
loss. 

The  discovery  of  the  offender  by  no  means  simplified  our 
problem.  To  exact  physical  punishment  from  an  injured 
man  would  be  an  act  of  palpable  cowardice,  and  by  no  means 
to  be  sustained  by  the  sentiment  of  the  college.  To  pass 
the  matter  over  in  silence  would  be  the  bald  abrogation  of 
a  time-honored  privilege.  As  as  conservative  middle  course 
it  was,  therefore,  decreed  that  Cilley  should  be  levied  upon 
for  a  class  "set-up."     He  was,  as  we  had  ascertained,  amply 

222 


AT   THE   ALTAR   OF   TRADITION 

able  to  stand  the  expense ;  and  our  visit  would  not  work  any 
bodily  injury  upon  him.  Under  the  circumstances  the  solu- 
tion had  seemed  statesmanlike  and  the  punishment  mild.  But 
in  some  way  the  upperclassmen  got  wind  of  our  contemplated 
visit  to  young  Cilley's  apartment.  Either  they  misunderstood 
the  punishment  to  be  administered,  or  else  they  had  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  in  this  instance  tradition  must  be  violated 
and  a  sweeping  exception  made.  When,  upon  the  appointed 
evening,  our  class  appeared  at  the  entrance  of  South  Win- 
throp,  we  found  the  entire  Junior  and  Senior  classes  lined 
up  in  the  darkness  of  the  stairways  with  pails  full  of  water 
ready  summarily  to  quench  our  thirst  for  justice.  An  alter- 
cation ensued  and  hot  words  were  passed.  We  retired  to 
the  Chapel  for  a  council  of  war.  A  noisy,  but  by  no  means 
uninfluential,  minority  was  for  securing  base  ball  bats  and 
forcing  a  passage  at  the  point  of  the  bludgeon.  As  we 
afterward  discovered,  one  member  of  the  class  was  armed 
with  a  revolver.  At  length  cooler  heads  and  wiser  councils 
prevailed  and  we  withdrew  from  a  contest  in  which  we  were 
outnumbered  more  than  two  to  one,  and  in  which  our  only 
chance  for  success  lay  in  physical  violence  and  ultimate  dis- 
grace. The  other  classes  made  light  of  our  surrender  but 
indulged  in  some  ridicule  on  the  following  day.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  it  had  been  a  moment  of  grave  danger  to  the 
good  name  of  the  college  as  well  as  to  the  personal  safety 
of  some  of  the  students.  The  punishment  of  Cilley  was 
dropped  and  never  came  up  again. 

The  problem  that  still  confronted  the  class  was  the 
removal  of  the  defiant  emblem,  for  throughout  all  of  our 
deliberations  and  controversies  "^  X  '91"  had  been  waving 
undisturbed  over  the  heads  of  the  college.  Several  unsuc- 
cessful attempts  were  made  by  the  more  athletic  spirits  of 
the  class  to  duplicate  Cilley's  feat.     I  believe  Dr.  Turner  of 

223 


TAIvES    OF    BOWDOIN 

Augusta  conceived  the  ingenious  plan  of  reaching  the  rod 
from  the  belfry  and  thereby  shortening  the  route.  But  this 
was  found  upon  investigation  to  be  impracticable.  Along 
with  the  rest  of  my  classmates,  I  presume  I  gave  the  matter 
no  small  amount  of  study  and  speculation.  At  length  a  plan 
occurred  to  me  by  which,  if  the  staples  could  be  relied  upon, 
the  ascent  seemed  easy,  practicable,  and  comparatively  safe. 
That  is,  it  required  no  marked  degree  of  dexterity  or  endur- 
ance. Any  young  man  with  a  steady  nerve,  who  could 
climb  a  rope  ladder  a  few  feet,  and  then  transfer  his  weight 
to  another  similar  ladder,  might  readily  carry  it  into  execu- 
tion. Two  duplicate  tackles  were  made,  one  of  which  may 
be  described  as  follows:  First,  a  light,  strong  pole  was 
secured,  long  enough  so  that  a  man  standing  on  a  level  with 
one  of  the  staples  might  reach  the  staple  above  with  it. 
(I  think  I  used  rakestales).  This  may  be  termed  the 
"handle."  Attached  to  the  flattened  side  of  one  end  of  this 
handle  was  a  strong  iron  hook,  of  such  proportions  as  to 
grasp  readily  and  securely  the  portion  of  the  staples  by 
which  the  lightning  rod  is  fastened  to  the  wall.  The  shank 
of  the  hook  had  to  be  made  long  enough  to  admit  of  its 
being  bound  securely  to  the  wooden  handle.  If  I  were  to 
attempt  the  ascent  again,  1  would  entrust  this  part  of  the 
mechanism  to  the  blacksmith  who  made  my  hooks;  for,  in 
spite  of  every  precaution,  one  of  the  hooks  worked  loose 
from  the  handle  before  the  descent  had  been  completed.  On 
the  lower  end  of  the  shank  of  the  hook  was  an  eye.  To 
this  eye  was  attached  a  rope  ladder,  which  in  my  device  was 
merely  a  succession  of  clumsy  loops,  although  my  experi- 
ence showed  that  a  little  care  and  ingenuity  in  its  construc- 
tion might  have  greatly  facilitated  the  insertion  of  the  toe 
in  the  loop  above — a  by  no  means  easy  process  in  the  night. 
In  addition  to  this  there  was  attached  to  the  upper,  or  hook 

224 


AT   THTi  ALTAR   OF   TRADITION, 

end,  of  the  tackle,  an  extra  loop  whereby  it  might  be  hung 
upon  the  forearm,  thus  leaving  both  hands  disengaged. 

The  mode  of  ascent  will  be  apparent  from  this  description 
of  "handle"  and  "ladder."  I  had  simply  to  stand  upon  the 
ground  and  attach  ladder  No.  i  to  the  nearest  staple;  next, to 
climb  this  ladder  until,  by  reaching  upward  with  the  handle, 
ladder  No.  2  could  be  attached  to  the  second  staple.  I  then 
transferred  my  weight  to  this  second  ladder,  unhooked  the 
first  one  from  its  place  on  the  staple  and  hung  it  upon  the 
forearm,  and  proceeded  as  before.  The  only  difficulty  to  be 
encountered  was  in  rounding  the  abrupt  turn  from  the  wall 
of  the  Chapel  to  the  roof,  but  investigation  had  convinced 
me,  what  experience  proved,  that  the  staples  are  advantage- 
ously located  for  turning  this  angle.  The  chief  strain  was 
upon  the  ankles,  which  were  found  to  ache  considerably 
before  the  descent  had  been  completed.  I  do  not  recall  that 
there  was  any  serious  strain  upon  the  hands  or  arms.  In 
fact,  were  it  not  for  the  altitude,  no  one  would  consider  the 
process  a  difficult  one.  Of  course,  when  the  preservation  of 
one's  existence  is  at  stake,  he  is  not  inclined  to  forget  the 
old  precautions  not  to  look  down,  nor  to  let  his  attention 
play  him  tricks. 

The  night  selected  for  the  trial  was  bright  moonlight. 
Ernest  Briggs,  one  of  my  classmates  who  died  later  in  his 
college  course,  and  Henry  ("Bob")  Hastings,  also  of  the 
class  of  'Ninety,  stood  upon  the  ground  ready  to  gather  up 
the  reliquiae  in  case  of  accident.  Some  unknown  person 
watched  the  proceedings  from  one  of  the  hall-windows  of 
South  Maine,  but  for  reasons  best  known  to  himself  he  kept 
our  secret.  He  retired  when  Briggs  approached  the  build- 
ing. Aside  from  the  trifling  accident  of  the  loosened  hook, 
both  ascent  and  descent  were  uneventful.  Upon  the  roof 
of  the  Museum  and  upon  the  ridgepole  of  the  Chapel,  there 
N  225 


TAI,i:S   OF    BOWDOIN 

was  abundant  opportunity  for  securing  periods  of  rest.  A 
small  pyramid  of  granite  surmounts  the  pinnacle  of  the 
spire,  and  the  apparently  insecure  manner  in  which  it  is 
attached  to  the  main  frustum  is  calculated  to  send  an 
uncanny  chill  down  one's  back,  when  the  piece  is  grasped. 
Strapped  upon  my  shoulders  were  the  banner,  "$X  '90," 
which  was  speedily  substituted  for  the  hated  rag  of  insur- 
rection; and  a  Phi  Chi  hat,  that  infallible  emblem  of 
sophomority,  which  was  hung  upon  the  tip  of  the  lightning 
rod  by  means  of  a  long  stick.  The  latter  was  blown  down 
in  the  early  morning  and  picked  up  by  Tom  Burr,  a  prowl- 
ing Freshman.  It  was  subsequently  stolen  from  him.  In 
writing  me  recently  from  Ann  Arbor,  Michigan,  where  he  is 
now  located.  Dr.  Burr  charged  me  openly  with  the  theft, 
and  demanded  the  restitution  of  the  relic.  As  I  had 
originally  extracted  it  from  the  wardrobe  of  Lincoln  Bodge 
of  the  Junior  class,  it  may  serve  to  prove  an  old  proverb 
about  the  migratory  habits  of  stolen  goods. 

There  was  the  usual  demonstration  in  front  of  the  Chapel 
the  next  morning,  and  Cilley  and  I  were  compelled  to  join 
hands  over  the  bloody  chasm  from  the  shoulders  of  our 
respective  classes.  Two  or  three  times  since  the  Fall  of 
1888  have  students  successfully  performed  the  exploit. 
Tradition  still  holds  her  genial  tyranny  over  the  halls  of  old 
Bowdoin,  and  the  generations  continue  to  pass  beneath  its 
triumphal  arches.  The  years  change,  but  not  the  heart  of 
youth. 

"A  boy's  wiU  is  the  wind's  will 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts." 


INDIAN  PUDDING 

John  Alexander  Pierce,  'oi 


INDIAN   PUDDING 

IN  accordance  with  the  less  mollified  remains  of  Puritanism 
half  a  century  ago,  although  supposedly  not  abhorrent  to 
God,  the  chapel  service  in  the  young  hours  of  the  morning 
was  peculiarly  abhorrent  to  man.  The  reins  of  authority 
being  held  pretty  tight  also  in  other  respects,  in  themselves 
seemed  to  suggest  to  the  restive  spirit  that  any  slackening 
of  their  tension  would  be  accompanied  by  sensations  of 
unalloyed  delight.  To  the  freedom  of  the  present  time  then, 
rather  than  to  a  lack  of  spirit,  should  be  attributed  the 
"decrease  in  romance"  in  student  life ;  there  are  fewer  block- 
ades and  gauntlets  to  be  run. 

Miscellaneous  regulations  used  to  suggest  miscellaneous 
infringements,  but  the  early  chapel  was  evidently  one  of  the 
most  grevious  compulsions,  for  on  cold  winter  mornings  the 
clapper  of  the  Chapel  bell  was  so  often  missing  that  the  col- 
lege had  learned  to  keep  on  hand  a  supply  of  tongues  so  that 
voice  could  be  summarily  restored  to  the  bell. 

When  one  pictures  to  himself  the  night  aspect  of  the  void 
and  dark  interior  of  the  bell  tower,  a  hundred  and  twenty 
feet  tall,  in  which  an  ascent  had  to  be  made  by  scaling  with 
a  short  ladder  from  successive  beams  and  window  niches,  it 
it  not  hard  to  see  how  a  student,  in  accomplishing  this  ardu- 
ous feat  to  prevent  a  single  chapel  service,  must  have 
imagined  himself  to  have  been  fired  with  the  strongest 
altruistic  principles.  It  was  on  the  occasion  of  one  Hal- 
lowe'en that  the  bell  was  thus  benevolently  gagged  under 
peculiarly  trying  conditions.     In  the  first  place  elaborate 

229 


tai,e:s  of  bowdoin 

maneuvres  had  to  be  carried  out  in  the  very  face  of  special 
watchfulness  on  the  part  of  the  authorities.  Buckets  of  ice 
and  water  had  to  be  lowered  into  the  Chapel  and  hoisted 
separately  to  the  belfry.  Then  the  bell  had  to  be  turned  over 
without  a  stroke  and  propped  in  an  inverted  position  to 
receive  the  contents  of  the  buckets.  But  the  extreme  and 
very  unusual  cold,  which  indeed  was  necessary  to  the 
project,  was  the  incident  of  the  greatest  hardship,  and  above 
all,  these  responsibilities  were  divided  on  only  two  pairs  of 
shoulders.  At  times  the  bitter  cold  almost  extinguished  the 
ardor  of  one  of  the  confederates,  and  although  now  and 
then  he  worked  furiously,  bubbling  over  with  enthusiasm  at 
the  brilliancy  of  the  project,  he  fell  again  as  surely  into  the 
alternate  state  of  apathy.  The  other,  the  author  and  prime 
mover,  persevered  grimly  and  quietly,  paying  no  heed  to  his 
second  except  to  give  directions.  He  had  chosen  his  room- 
mate as  his  sole  accomplice  in  conformity  with  his  favorite 
maxim  that  "Three  men  can  keep  a  secret  when  two  of 
them  are  dead." 

"There,"  said  Number  Two  as  he  stopped  drawing  up 
the  bell-rope,  "by  the  eternal  Devil  I've  dredged  up  the  last 
bucket  from  the  Pit,"  and  after  pouring  the  water  it  con- 
tained into  the  bell,  he  sat  down  astride  the  beam  on  which 
he  had  been  standing  and  began  to  hitch  along  as  if  endeav- 
oring to  keep  his  blood  in  circulation.  Occasionally  he 
uttered  despairing  groans  in  reference  to  his  friend's  arrival 
with  the  ladder.  At  last  when  a  head  did  appear  above  the 
beam  and  a  voice  said,  "Stubs,"  he  started  up  and  could 
scarcely  contain  his  enthusiasm. 

"It's  freezing  solid,"  he  cried.  "Oh,  why  have  you  such 
a  name  as  Jedediah  to  confound  the  ballad-writers?" 

Jedediah,  familiarly  "Jed,"  made  an  examination  for  him- 
self and  being  satisfied  that  the  water  and  broken  ice  in  the 

230 


INDIAN    PUDDING 

bell   were   forming   a  homogeneous   mass,   he  began  the 
descent. 

About  fifteen  minutes  later  they  were  huddled  by  the  fire 
in  their  room  in  Winthrop,  and  it  was  only  after  consider- 
able thawing  that  those  two  energetic  brains  appeared  to  be 
once  more  alert  to  the  welfare  of  humanity. 

"Noble  Jedediah,"  said  Stubs,  "our  family  physician 
always-  maintained  that  there  was  nothing  like  a  counter- 
irritant  to  divert  a  threatened  malady.  Now  wouldn't  it 
be  well  to  establish  the  grounds  of  our  alibi  ?" 

"Exactly  what  I  was  thinking  of,"  replied  Jed.  "Now 
while  I  don't  claim  absolutely  that  I  originate  everything 
brilliant,  I  am  always  happy  to  suggest  an  expeditious 
course,  and  although  the  idea  may  not  in  every  case  be  new 
to  me,  I  am  no  more  a  sycophant  than  the  modern  poets 
are  who  sometimes  derive  inspiration  from  their  prede- 
cessors." 

"A  little  too  much  air  escaped  with  that  for  me  to  grasp 
your  meaning  exactly,"  Stubs  said  in  a  tone  of  remon- 
strance. "I  am  afraid  your  windpipe  is  getting  out  of  your 
control.  Pull  your  necktie  up  and  take  a  hitch  or  two  in 
the  slack." 

"Notice  that  I  applaud  your  scintillating  wit.  When  you 
interrupted  me  I  was  going  to  suggest  that  we  should  adopt 
a  plan  that  has  been  attributed  to  our  worthy  predecessor, 
Elijah  Kellogg.  Something  of  proven  merit  is  meet  for 
the  exigency  and  for  Hallowe'en." 

"The  festival  is  surely  as  worthy  in  its  observances  as 
Candlemas  or  the  Pentecost,  and  I  am  agreeable  so  long  as 
it  may  truly  be  a  counter-irritant." 

"Oh,  it's  explicitly  that,  and  if  you  will  effect  a  sort  of 
gathering  of  the  clans  as  quietly  as  possible,  I  will  attend  to 
the  other  details." 

231 


TAI,ES   OF    BOWDOIN 

Stubs  left  the  room  immediately  and  Jed  concerned  him- 
self in  the  bed-chamber  with  the  filling  of  an  oil  stove  and 
fumbling  in  a  box  of  various  tin  and  glass  utensils. 

Presently  the  outer  door  opened  and  half  a  dozen  fellows, 
at  once  annoyed  and  expectant,  like  pigs  aroused  for  a  meal, 
made  their  entrance.  They  threw  themselves  into  various 
restful  postures  to  await  developments.  Stubs  leaned  back 
in  a  chair  and  put  his  feet  on  the  table.  What  he  intended 
for  a  genial  grin  was  rendered  rather  forbidding  by  black 
flakes  of  tobacco  leaf  that  hid  all  but  an  occasional  tooth; 
but  his  spectacles,  pushed  up  on  his  head,  gave  him  an  air 
of  venerable  erudition,  and  altogether  this  demagogue 
appeared  to  be  about  to  regale  his  disciples  with  a  profitable 
harangue.  He  added  fresh  tobacco  to  his  apparently  suffi- 
cient quid  and  tucked  it  away  in  some  cavernous  recess 
where  it  could  not  quite  garble  his  elocution. 

"Oh,  tenderly  nurtured  youths,"  he  began,  "how  unfor- 
tunate for  you  that  you  cannot  always  bask  in  the  light  of 
your  Jedediali,  who  is  now  engaged  in  the  pursuit  of 
alchemy,  and  of  myself,  who  has  ascertained  why  Demos- 
thenes wished  to  learn  the  art  of  talking  with  something  in 
the  mouth — " 

"Sa}^,  is  this  all  there  is  to  be  of  the  show?"  someone 
interrupted. 

"I  can't  bear  much  of  this,"  said  another. 

"We  didn't  come  in,  you  know,  to  hear  you  bleat,"  put  in 
a  third. 

"Another  year  of  srch  tutelage,"  continued  Stubs  imper- 
turbably,  "and  a  dawn  might  break  on  your  dark  souls. 
You  would  in  the  first  place  be  in  a  more  recipient  attitude, 
having  become  acquainted  with  the  various  statutes  of  this 
precinct  through  their  various  penalties.  For  instance,  de 
pi  pa  portandi,   for  negligently   carrying  a  cask  of   wine, 

232 


INDIAN    PUDDING 

would  teach  you  not  to  drop  your  oil  can  when  returning- 
from  the  grocer's."  Here  he  paused  for  breath  and  a  voice 
from  the  bed-room  interposed : 

"Sound  the  tocsin! " 

This  injunction  seemed  to  be  pretty,  well  understood,  for 
the  fellows  in  the  study  immediately  set  up  a  terrific  hub- 
bub, by  stamping  and  shouting  while  Stubs  beat  out  a  sort 
of  irregular  rhythm  on  the  table  with  an  old  clapper  of  the 
Chapel  bell.  Presently  the  confusion  subsided  and  Jedediah 
came  out  of  the  bed-room  and  shouted  three  or  four  times : 

"You  lie!     It's  my  deal!" 

He  had  hardly  uttered  this  reiteration  when  a  loud  knock 
shook  the  door.  Silence  followed  and  no  one  stirred.  The 
knocking  was  continued  with  impatience.  Stubs  made  a 
sign  to  one  of  those  nearest  to  open  the  door.  The  latter 
turned  the  lock  and  opened  as  if  reluctantly,  when  seeing 
the  lowering  visage  of  Tutor  Blank,  he  swung  the  door 
wide. 

Jedediah,  who  was  standing,  made  a  hasty  motion  with 
one  hand  from  the  table  toward  his  coat-tail  pocket.  The 
others  rose  respectfully. 

The  tutor  glided  forward  and  looked  about  with  a  crafty 
smile.  "Aha,"  he  croaked,  "playing  cards  a^ain  in  Number 
Seven." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  began  Jedediah,  "but — " 

"No  falsehoods,  sir!  Don't  make  it  any  worse;  your 
case  is  bad  enough  as  it  is!" 

"But,  sir—" 

"Don't  lie  to  me,  sir!"  said  the  tutor  through  his  teeth. 
"You've  got  the  cards  in  your  pocket." 

As  Jedediah  was  apparently  ready  to  utter  unlimited 
negatives,  the  tutor  darted  forward  as  if  to  assert  his  pre- 
rogative of  the  right  of  search.     Jed  started  back  and  cried : 

233 


tai,e:s  of  bowdoin 

"Oh,  please  don't  feel  in  my  pocket,  sir!" 

Tutor  Blank  grinned  and  said  "Aha !"  but  far  from  relin- 
quishing his  search,  he  pressed  forward  with  renewed 
interest- 

"Oh,  but  1  beg  you,  sir,  don't  do  it,  I  pray  you — !" 
exclaimed  Jed,  but  his  request  was  cut  short  by  the  tutor's 
making  a  snatch  at  the  coat-tail  and  darting  a  hand  into  the 
depths  of  the  pocket.  This  purpose  was  no  sooner  realized, 
however,  than  Tutor  Blank  uttered  a  wild  howl,  followed 
by  an  exclamation  of  a  more  articulate  and  impressive 
nature.  For  a  minute  or  two  he  danced  around  on  the 
tips  of  his  toes,  a  perfect  picture  of  anguish.  Then  he 
began  to  scrape  a  steaming  yellow  paste  from  the  fingers  of 
that  enterprising  hand,  and  when  he  had  succeeded  in  fairly 
catching  his  breath  he  bawled  : 

"What  did  you  do  that  for?" 

"Indeed,  /  begged  you  not  to  put  your  hand  in  my 
pocket !"    replied  Jed. 

"That's  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  roared  Tutor  Blank. 
"What  have  you  in  that  pocket?" 

"An  Indian  Pudding,  sir!" 

"What  in, — what  on  earth, — what  right  have  you  to  have 
a  pudding  in  your  pocket?"  Tutor  Blank  howled. 

"I  didn't  know  there  was  any  regulation  about  having  a 
pudding  in  one's  pocket,  sir,"  Jed  answered,  "and  besides  I 
begged  you  not  to  put  your  hand  in  it,  for  I  was  afraid  the 
mush  might  be  hot." 

Tutor  Blank  turned  on  his  heel  and  beat  a  retreat,  slam- 
ming the  door  after  him. 

The  door  had  scarcely  closed  when  a  rather  disrespectful 
shout  of  laughter  burst  out,  and  the  "gathering  of  the  clans" 
rolled  about  in  ecstatic  convulsions. 

234 


A  HISTORY  AND  THE 

REASONS  FOR  IT 

Edward  C.  Plummer,  '87 


A  HISTORY  AND  THE  RKSONS  TOR  IT 

IT  has  long  been  my  fixed  belief  that  no  one  should 
indulge  in  that  species  of  composition  which  a  bound- 
less charity  permits  the  prejudiced  to  call  poetry,  unless  he 
can  show  a  good  and  sufficient  reason  for  being  so  favored. 
Whether  or  not  the  lines  appended  to  this  article  can  justify 
their  existence  under  this  rule,  must  be  determined  from 
the  following  historic  facts. 

Imprimis :  The  present  Faculty  of  Bowdoin  College  will 
cautiously  admit,  what  some  of  their  former  associates  have 
at  divers  times  so  emphatically  stated,  that  the  late  'sixties 
and  early  'seventies  were  years  which  brought  to  this 
famous  institution  the  most  nerve-trying  students  that  ever 
sought  intellectual  development  in  the  quiet  town  of  Bruns- 
wick. 

And  this  admission  is  no  reflection  on  the  very  high  grade 
of  mischievous  ingenuity  which  enabled  other  men  to 
severely  ruffie  the  theoretically  placid  waters  of  student  life. 
The  'eighties  certainly  produced  scholars  who  developed 
quite  exceptional  talents  in  this  peculiar  line,  while  many  a 
snowy-haired  graduate  will  now  and  then  let  fall  an  anec- 
dote which  shows  that  half  a  century  ago  the  wrinkle- 
creating  prank  had  developed  to  most  troublesome  propor- 
tions. But,  as  the  pyramid  has  one  stone  which  rises  above 
all  others,  though  many  others  are  at  a  great  height,  so  the 
period  named  above  must  be  recognized  as  entitled  to  the 
peculiar  honor  accorded  it  here,  despite  the  numerous,  and 

237 


TAL^S   OF    BOWDOIN 

unquestionably  sincere,  efforts  of  worthy  competitors  to 
carry  away  the  palm. 

That  student,  whose  ingenious  mind  discovered  that  a 
most  satisfactory  and  hair-raising  bonfire  could  be  produced 
by  simply  digging  down  to  the  gas  main,  knocking  a  hole 
therein  and  igniting  the  gas,  thereby  causing  the  fire  depart- 
ment to  actually  hurry  to  the  campus  and  attempt  to  extin- 
guish the  pillar  of  fire  which  other  thoughtful  students  had 
caused  the  public  to  believe  was  destroying  the  whole  insti- 
tution, is  not  forgotten  when  the  aforesaid  palm  is  awarded ; 
nor  is  that  benign-faced  professional  gentleman  (now  so 
well  known  in  New  England)  whose  mathematical  exact- 
ness enabled  him  to  so  fasten  the  Chapel  doors  that  nearly 
the  entire  Faculty  together  with  the  great  body,  of  the  stu- 
dents remained  in  that  unwarmcd  hall  for  nearly  an  hour 
of  a  remarkably  crisp  winter's  morning,  overlooked.  But 
these  young  men  can  only  be  credited  with  isolated  strokes 
of  genius — lightning  flashes  from  an  otherwise  fairly  clear 
sky ;  they  lacked  that  persistent  devotion  to  unremitting  mis- 
chief, the  sustained  brilliancy  in  constantly  devising  unique 
and  triumphant  assaults  upon  the  much-enduring  patience 
of  the  professors  which  leads  the  average  lay  mind  to  unhes- 
itatingly predict  the  gallows  for  every  such  individual,  while 
causing  a  genuine  tidal  wave  of  thankfulness  to  flood  the 
hearts  of  all  instructors  when  he  is  gone. 

That  such  a  genius  haunted  Bowdoin  some  thirty  years 
ago,  cannot  possibly  have  been  forgotten  by  any  who  were 
even  distantly  connected  with  the  college  at  that  time.  But 
as  it  is  one  of  the  eccentricities  of  human  nature  that  while 
the  mere  entrance  upon  the  college  grounds  causes  even  the 
most  sedate  alumnus  (provided  he  has  no  student  son  there 
to  observe  him)  to  again  see  the  deeds  of  his  youth  in  all 
the  glory  of  their  old-time  colors,  as  many  a  room  in  these 

238 


A    HISTORY    AND   THE)   REiASONS   I^OR   IT 

venerable  dormitories  could  testify  after  every  Commence- 
ment reunion  of  old  friends  gathered  there,  yet  the  chill  of 
the  greater  world's  atmosphere  is  such  that  actors  in  those 
old  pranks  object  to  the  general  publication  of  their  boyhood 
exploits.  Therefore,  while  so  many  graduates  can  at  once 
identify  "Ji"^/'  I  refrain  from  giving  a  more  complete  name 
at  this  time,  but,  with  a  passing  reference  to  his  skill  as  a 
midnight  driller  of  Freshmen,  to  the  fact  that  he  filled 
with  masterly  success  the  highly  responsible  position  of 
"Archon"  in  Phi  Chi,  to  his  humorous  bull-dog  of  which 
Smith's  "Ned"  in  the  'eighties  was  the  first  really  worthy 
successor,  I  proceed  to  the  recital  of  one  exploit,  which  I 
make  no  doubt  is  still  puzzling  the  then  President  of  Bow- 
doin  College,  as  an  absolutely  conclusive  argument  that  Jim 
is  entitled  to  be  remembered  in  verse. 

In  the  spring  of  '70,  Jim,  doubtless  feeling  the  impulse 
of  the  season,  resolved  that  the  variegated  program  of 
mischief  for  that  year  should  be  completed  by  the  removal 
of  the  Chapel  bell,  and,  with  the  assistance  of  a  corps  of 
worthy  collaborators  who,  geniuses  in  themselves,  recog- 
nized a  still  greater  genius  in  him  and  therefore  crowded 
about  him,  even  as  the  great  marshals  gatherenl  about 
Napoleon  and  by  such  combination  made  grreater  conquests 
possible,  mapped  out  the  campaign. 

Pennell's  ship-yard  was  made  to  supply  the  necessary 
tackle ;  the  enthusiasm  of  minds  on  so  bold  a  project  bent 
furnished  the  necessary  energy;  and  as  a  result  of  that 
exceedingly  hard  night's  work  the  Morning,  had  it  been  in 
the  secret  and  supplied  with  sufficiently  powerful  eyes, 
might  have  discovered  that  Chapel  bell  safely  buried  under 
three  feet  of  sand  amid  the  blueberry  bushes  some  two  miles 
from  the  college. 

239 


tai,e:s  of  bowdoin 

Naturally  there  was  a  search  for  the  bell,  and  threats  of 
dire  punivshments  awaiting  the  offenders  drifted  over  the 
student  body ;  but  as  all  this  but  added  a  more  delicate  flavor 
to  the  delight  which  crowded  the  breasts  of  the  guilty 
parties,  and  produced  no  other  results,  notice  was  given  that 
unless  that  missing  Chapel  appendage  was  restored  within 
twenty-four  hours  a  general  assessment  would  be  made 
upon  the  entire  Sophomore  class  for  the  purpose  of 
replacing  the  loss. 

When  the  Napoleonic  band  learned  that  innocent  parties 
were  to  suffer  for  their  acts,  with  that  sense  of  strict  honor 
which  always  characterizes  the  true  college  mischief-maker, 
they  determined  to  discover  the  missing  article,  and  the  next 
day  a  mysterious  letter,  locating  the  bell,  reached  the  Fac- 
ulty.    So  the  bell  was  found — ^but  it  lacked  a  tongue. 

A  new  tongue  was  procured  and  duly  placed  beside  the 
resurrected  bell  on  the  Chapel  steps  the  morning  that  the 
President  had  selected  to  address  the  students  there,  pre- 
paratory to  hoisting  the  bell  to  its  old  place  in  the  tower. 

But  Jim,  with  his  marshals,  was  there ;  and  as  the  kindly 
President  talked  to  the  gathered  students  of  the  folly  of 
such  unusual  tricks,  involving  so  much  useless  peril,  and, 
warming  to  the  theme,  appealed  to  them  to  abandon  such 
senseless  pranks,  the  lines  gradually  closed  about  the 
speaker  until,  when  the  address  was  finished  and  the  beloved 
President,  pleased  with  the  expectant  faces  which  had 
remained  so  earnestly  upturned  to  him  during  the  talk, 
ordered  the  restoration  proceedings  to  begin,  it  was  dis- 
covered that  the  tongue  of  the  bell  had  again  disappeared ! 

Jim  had  actually  possessed  himself  of  that  important  piece 
of  metal  while  the  President  was  speaking.  It  had  passed 
from  hand  to  hand  among  the  faithful  until  at  last  it  had 
found  repose  under  the  hedge.     Later  it  was  taken  to  one 

240 


A   HISTORY   AND   TH^   REASONS   F'OR  IT 

of  the  marshals'  rooms  where  it  remained  while  Jim's  apart- 
ments, as  a  matter  of  principle,  were  searched — as  usual, 
without  results. 

This  exploit  of  stealing  the  bell's  tongue  from  beneath 
the  very  eyes  of  the  President  and  at  a  time  when  the  janitor 
and  his  assistants  were  carefully  watching  all  proceedings, 
confirmed  Jim's  title  to  the  high  position  which  he  had 
attained  among  those  who  best  knew  the  scope  of  his 
remarkable  type  of  genius. 

Tt  is  for  this  reason  that  I  have  felt  convinced  that  no 
prose,  however  stilted,  not  even  an  extract  from  a  Junior's 
theme,  could  do  him  justice.  Therefore  the  results  of  his 
college  studies,  as  well  as  the  circumstances  under  which  I 
recently  renewed  an  old  acquaintanceship,  are  sufficiently 
indicated  in  the  following 

History. 

A  song  of  days  when  the  youthful  life 

Was  bright  with  the  Morning's  glow; 
When   the  fields  of   Fancy  with  hopes  were  rife, 
And  the  heart  was  hot,  and  Time's  old  knife 

Had  none  of  its  flowers  laid  low. 


He  came  from  a  home  in  a  quiet  town 

Where  he  was  the  pride  of  all ; 
His  brow  inviting  a  scholar's  crown, 
While  a  serious  air,  like  a  classic  gown, 
Seemed  over  his  form  to  fall. 

He  came  with  a  mind  aspiring  high, 

With  the  pulse  of  a  lofty  soul, 
Resolved  in  the  college  world  to  try 
His  swelling  powers,  and  he  -fixed  his  eye 
On  the  highest  sort  of  a  goal. 
241 


TAI^DS    OF    BOWDOIN 

Wfth  awe  he  looked  on  the  halls  and  trees 

And  the  points  of  the  granite  spires; 
And  bowed  to  professors  with  fearful  ease, 
Resolved  those  wonderful   men   to  please 
And  know  no  other  desires. 

And  every  day  through  the   campus  walks 

He  strode  with  studious  look, 
His  heart  attuned  to  the  Muses'  talks, 
His  castles  built  on  the  good  old  rocks 

Of  a  student  lamp  and  a  book. 

And   many  a   night   did  the   midnight  air, 

As  it  crept   from   the   sleeping  pines. 
Lift  gently  the  locks  of  the  tumbled  hair 
From  the  throbbing  temples  of   him   who  there 
Was   charging  the   Grecian  lines. 

No  thought  of  the  World,   or  its  social  gem, 

Could  stain  that  studious  mind; 
The  meerschaum  bowl  with  its  amber  stem. 
The  equine  books,  and  things  like  them. 

He  scorned  as  of  evil  kind. 

His  cheeks  grew  pale  with  the  ceaseless  toil — 

But  never  a  thought  of  rest; 
Early  and  late  he  was  proud  to  moil 
And  plant  much  seed  in  his  mental  soil — 

His  reward :  a  rank  of  the  best. 


But  Time,  the  fellow  who  never  tires, 

Who  ever  has  much  to  do, 
Who  cools  the  heart  with  the  hottest  fires 
And  steals  our  hopes  and  our  fond  desires, 

Brings  change  to  the  student  too. 


242 


A   HISTORY   AND   Th:^   REASONS   FOR   IT 

That  room  still  glows  with  the  midnight  lamps. 

But  the  Muses  are  far  away; 
On  the  student's  table   a  bull  dog  camps, 
And   smoke   wreaths  circle,   and   Laughter  stamps 

His  smiles  on  a  group  at  play. 

His  numerous  prints  of  the  corps  ballet 
He  shows  to  his  friends  with  pride; 

He  affects  the  air  of  a  child  roue; 

All  serious  thoughts  are  to  him  passe; 
And  he  walks  with  a  reckless  stride. 

And  many  a  night  doth  his  well-known  shout 

Bring  fear  to  the  timid  heart, 
As  he  leads  a  gay  collegiate  rout, 
And  tumbles  the  new-come  student  out 

That  he  may  perform  his  part. 

He  drills  pale  squads  in  their  white  robes  neat, 

In  the  "wee  sma'  hours  o'  the  nights," 
And  whistles  a  tune  for  their  dancing  feet. 
While  the  bull  dog  aids  in  the  curious  treat 
By  making  pretended  bites. 

No  longer  the  class-room  seems  the  field 

Where  glory  and  fame  are  born ; 
The  evening  stroll  and  the  love  revealed 
To  ancient  nymph,  and  the  troth  they've  sealed. 

Have  caused  him  his  books  to  scorn. 

He  looks  on  professors  as  bloodless  men 

Devoid  of  aspiring  souls, 
Content  to  dwell  in  a  bookish  den. 
And  burrow  in  this  scholastic  glen 

Like  intellectual  moles. 


243 


TAI^ItS    OF    BOWDOIN 

Again  the  change:    With  superior  eye 

He  views  all  noisy  vsports; 
He  lets  the  tasks  of  the  world  draw  nigh 
And  turns  his  thoughts  on  the  things  that  try 

The  wisdom  of  camps  and  courts. 

The  problems  challenging  statesmen's  might 

He  solves  in  an  evening's  talk; 
He  scales  theology's  awful  height, 
And  puts  the  tangle  of  creeds  aright 

In  the  chat  of  a  morning's  walk. 

Philosophy  soon  absorbs  his  mind — 
He  dwells  on  the  things  unknown, 
And  rambles  around  'mid  the  undefined 
A  key  to  the  riddle  of  life  to  find, — 
While  leaving  his  books  alone. 

At  last  his  days  in  the  college  o'er, 

He  bids  farewell  to  the  halls: 
Professors  thankful  he'll  come  no  more, 
While  sundry  damsels,  as  oft  before. 

Shed  tears  at  his  final  calls. 


We  meet  again:    In  the  calm  retreat 

Of  a  beautiful  church  in  town. 
Where  gather  the  groups  of  the  bon  elite 
In  pious  splendor,  he  takes  his  seat, 
A  pastor  of  much  renown. 

The  tender  voice  and  the  kindly  eye, 

The  charm  of  a  noble  heart. 
The  life  to  its  standard  kept  so  nigh. 
Hath  made  him  dear  where  his  duties  lie, 

And  well  he  performs  his  part. 

244 


A    HISTORY   AND   THE)   REASONS   FOR  IT 

But  oft  as  the  learned  language  flows 

From  his  lips  to  his  listening  flock, 
I  see  the  Past  o'er  the  Present  close — 
It  brushes  away  Time's  whitening  snows. 
And  dulls  mine  ears  to  the  talk. 

And  Fancy  another  scene  reveals, 

Set  deep  in  the  days  gone  by — 
A  youth  o'er  the  silent  campus  steals, 
A  bull  dog  trotting  behind  his  heels, 

And  tlien  comes  a  well-known  cry. 

The  breath  of  the  swaying  pines  returns, 

The  river  gleams  bright  below. 
As  Memory's  glancing  sunshine  burns 
The  mists  away,  and  the  heart  discerns 

The  pictures  of  long  ago. 

The  songs  and  the  laughs  and  the  old-time  calls. 

The  room  and  the  old-time  friend, 
The  trees  and  the  paths  and  the  plain  old  halls. 
The  gray  of  the  Chapel's  windowed-walls, 

From  the  clouds  of  the  past  descend. 


A  sigh — and  my  wife  with  elbow  strong 

Dispels  the  dream,  and  I  wake 
To  the  solemn  fact  of  the  closing  song 
And  the  contribution-box  coming  along, 
My  hard-earned  cash  to  take. 


THE  OLD  DELTA 

Albert  W.  Tolman,  '88 


THE  OLD  DELTT^ 

THE  graduate  who  visits  Bowdoin  after  an  absence  of 
several  years  cannot  help  feeling  that  there  have  been 
many  changes  for  the  better.  Well-kept  grounds,  renovated 
dormitories,  new  buildings  and  many  other  signs  of  prog- 
ress greet  him.  And  if  he  chances  to  drop  into  town  on  a 
Spring  afternoon  when  he  has  heard  that  the  ball  team  is  to 
play  some  other  college  nine,  and  loiters  up  to  the  Delta 
where  he  had  supposed  the  contest  would  take  place,  a  great 
surprise  is  in  store  for  him;  for  here  is  no  grandstand,  no 
gathering  of  students  and  townspeople.  But  if  he  follows 
the  crowd  flowing  down  the  Harpswell  road  and  turns  into 
a  well-worn  path  through  the  pines,  he  is  soon  within  the 
spacious  enclosure  of  Whittier  Field.  And  after  he  has 
watched  the  game  from  the  new  stand,  joined  in  the  college 
yell,  and  felt  his  heart  thrill  with  oldtime  enthusiasm  in  the 
companionship  of  undergraduates  unknown  to  him  person- 
ally but  filled  with  the  same  loy^alty  to  the  old  college,  he 
will  no  doubt  come  away,  convinced  that  the  athletes  of  the 
present  are  fully  as  good  as  their  predecessors,  and  that 
athletics  in  general  are  on  a  much  better  footing  than  for- 
merly. 

Yet  after  the  contest  is  over,  and  on  his  return  he  passes 
the  old  Delta,  empty  and  deserted,  he  remembers  the  games 
he  used  to  see  there;  and  his  thoughts  go  back  till  they  rest 
on  some  June  morning,  ten,  fifteen,  twenty  years  ago. 


249 


TALES    OF    BOWDOIN 

All  the  day  before  it  has  been  raining,  and  in  the  morning 
the  tops  of  the  tall  pines  are  still  full  of  mist;  but  as  the 
forenoon  advances  the  sun  has  come  out  brig^ht  and  hot, 
mirroring  itself  in  the  muddy  pools  on  the  diamond. 
To-day  decides  the  championship  of  the  Maine  college 
league;  and  down  from  Waterville  has  flashed  a  telegram 
that  the  Colby  team  is  coming. 

The  grounds  must  be  gotten  in  shape  for  the  afternoon, 
and  the  manager  is  full  of  business.  Brooms,  sawdust, 
lime,  bases  and  foul-flags  are  running  riot  through  his  brain. 
There  is  little  work  done  in  the  recitation  rooms  that  fore- 
noon. Lessons  are  gotten  through  in  a  perfunctory  way. 
Everybody's  thought  centres  on  the  game.  Somehow  the 
hours  drag  by,  dinner  is  over,  and  the  crowd  begins  to 
gather  on  the  Delta. 

The  pitcher's  box  is  filled  with  sawdust,  the  base-lines  are 
fresh-limed,  the  bases  are  in  position.  "Whisker"  is  there, 
and  other  local  celebrities.  The  windows  of  Adams  Hall 
are  filled  with  interested  Medics,  lured  for  a  few  minutes 
from  the  delights  of  dissecting.  The  grandstand  blossoms 
gaily  out  with  a  mushroom  growth  of  ladies'  hats  and  par- 
asols ;  the  whitewashed  fences  stretching  away  on  either  side 
are  lined  with  non-paying  spectators;  the  roads  fill  with 
carriages ;  every  moment  adds  its  share  to  the  crowd  of  stu- 
dents and  townsmen. 

Up  the  street  from  the  Tontine  across  the  railroad  track, 
with  bat-bags,  mask  and  leathern  breastplate,  come  swing- 
ing a  little  group  of  perhaps  a  dozen  men  in  gray  suits  and 
red  stockings,  with  the  letter  "C"  upon  their  breasts,  invol- 
untarily clustering  close  together  for  the  feeling  of  strength 
that  numbers  give  them,  for  are  they  not  on  alien  ground? 
A  few  minutes  more,  and  the  rival  teams  are  taking  each 

250 


the:   OI.D    DI^LTA 

other's  measure  on  the  field  where  they  are  to  cross  bats  for 
the  supremacy  of  the  State. 

There  is  a  little  preliminary  warming-up  by  each  nine; 
then  the  captains  meet  to  discuss  the  conditions  of  the  game 
with  the  umpire,  who  consults  the  oracles  by  snapping  up  a 
half  dollar.  At  its  fall  one  of  the  teams  takes  the  field  on 
the  run.  The  same  arbiter  of  destiny  produces  from  a 
bulging  pocket  a  brand-new  paper  box,  from  which  he  tears 
the  ball,  white  and  round,  and  tosses  it  to  the  pitcher.  One 
of  the  other  nine  who  has  been  carefully  weighing  bats 
steps  out  from  the  little  group  around  the  settee,  and  stands 
at  the  plate,  facing  the  man  in  the  box.  The  latter,  after  a 
few  cabalistic  passes,  draws  back  his  arm  and  then  suddenly 
hurls  it  forward.  A  streak  of  white  crosses  the  plate  above 
the  batsman's  shoulder. 

One  ball ! 

The  game  is  on,  and  everybody  breathes  freer. 

The  coachers  unlimber  and  converse  across  the  diamond, 
expressing  frank  and  unsolicited  disapproval  of  the  oppos- 
ing pitcher's  strength  of  arm,  or  alluding  mysteriously  to  the 
excellence  of  vision  of  the  man  at  the  bat.  As  the  game 
proceeds,  let  us  take  a  look  at  the  field. 

There  is  the  pitcher,  on  whose  arm  depends  the  fortune 
of  the  day,  the  mainspring  of  the  team,  confined  for  the  time 
in  his  little  white-lined  parallelogram.  Behind  and  to  his 
right  and  left  are  shortstop,  basemen  and  fielders  looming 
large  against  the  dull-green  wall  of  pine,  their  seven  pairs 
of  eyes  focused  intently  on  the  silent  figure  standing  with 
firm-gripped  bat  across  its  shoulder  near  the  dusty  square  of 
stone.  Behind  the  batsman  is  the  catcher,  hands  extended 
and  feet  astride,  a  masked,  gloved,  breastplated  Colossus. 
Around  the  upper  end  of  the  field  in  the  form  of  an  irreg- 
ular crescent  stretches  the  crowd,  an  inflammable  mass  of 

251 


tai,e;s  of  bowdoin 

human  tinder,  ready  to  be  kindled  with  enthusiasm  or 
chilled  to  despair  by  the  varjdng  fortunes  of  the  game. 

But  what  need  to  describe  details  ?  There  are  good  plays 
and  bad  plays;  pyrotechnic  catches  and  stops,  and  heart- 
breaking errors;  breathless  moments  of  excitement  and 
occasional  spasms  of  disgust;  long  hits  that  start  a  twink- 
ling scurry  of  red  or  blue  stockings  around  the  bases  and 
send  precious  runs  across  the  plate,  and  short  hits  that  nip 
hopes  in  the  bud  and  cause  runners  to  be  most  unexpectedly 
doubled  up.  Now  there  is  an  error  at  a  critical  time,  almost 
inexcusable,  (as  it  seems  to  the  anxious  crowd),  and  at  the 
end  of  the  inning  the  man  who  has  made  it  conies  in,  some- 
times sullen,  sometimes  defiant,  but  oftener  with  hanging 
head  and  eyes  that  have  a  suspicion  of  moisture,  swallowing 
hard  to  keep  down  an  unnatural  growth  in  the  throat.  Now 
a  line  hit,  lost  in  the  underbrush  near  the  fence,  sets  the 
right-fielder  madly  pawing  about  in  the  grass  and  scrub 
pines,  while  the  runners  are  tearing  around  the  bases  with 
a  most  unfeeling  disregard  for  his  anxiety.  Occasionally  a 
stray  ball  picks  off  one  of  the  "yagger"  heads  that  are 
watching  the  pitcher's  curves  from  just  over  the  foul-board. 
Then  comes  a  panicky  season  when  everybody  is  throwing 
wild.  One  man  gets  the  ball  only  to  hurl  it  over  the  head 
of  the  next,  who  follows  suit,  going  his  predecessor  a  few 
feet  better.  Finally  some  calm-nerved,  clear-headed  player 
stops  the  carnage,  the  smoke  clears  away,  and  casualties  in 
the  shape  of  runs  made  or  lost  may  be  counted. 

Then  comes  the  customary  wrangle ;  was  ever  a  ball  game 
played  without  one?  The  umpire  becomes  an  unwilling 
nucleus  around  which  an  excited  group  of  players  centres; 
on  him  are  the  vials  of  wrath  poured  out;  he  is  the  scape- 
goat, the  pariah  against  whom  is  every  man's  hand.  Spec- 
tators add  themselves  to  the  circle;  there  is  a  waving  of 

252 


THJ5   OIvD    DKLTA 

hands,  a  shakine:  of  fists,  a  turmoil;  everybody  is  talking  at 
once.     Suddenly,  a  scattering ;  and  the  game  goes  on. 

The  sixth  inning  is  over  and  the  'score  is  very  close. 
From  now  on  it  is  see-saw,  anybody's  game ;  one  error,  one 
good  play,  one  happy  swing  of  the  bat  may  decide  it.  The 
joviality  of  the  first  part  of  the  contest  has  vanished ;  there 
is  no  more  "jollying" ;  matters  are  in  a  too  serious  condition ; 
Bowdoin  has  a  lead  of  one  run  and  is  anxious  to  retain  her 
advantage;  Colby  is  fighting  by  inches  to  overtake  her;  the 
nerves  of  both  teams  are  taut  as  fiddle-strings.  Even  the 
leathern  lungs  of  the  coachers  show  signs  of  wear ;  they  are 
hoarse-throated  and  dry-mouthed,  and  their  voices  break 
occasionally;  their  assurance  has  disappeared.  Among 
the  audience  nobody  is  really  enjoying  the  game ;  the  inter- 
est has  become  too  painful. 

The  seventh  inning  passes,  and  neither  side  adds  to  its 
score;  the  eighth  is  the  same.  Now  for  the  finish.  One 
more  chance  apiece. 

The  sun  is  well  down  in  the  West,  and  its  rays  strike 
full  in  the  faces  of  the  fielders  and  basemen.  It  is  a  good 
time  for  the  batters.  Bowdoin  is  up  with  the  weak  end  of 
her  list,  but  she  makes  a  gallant  try  to  increase  her  score. 
By  the  time  two  men  are  out  she  has  runners  on  second 
and  third.     And  now  come  the  strong  batters. 

"Here's  where  we  clinch  the  game !"  shouts  the  captain. 

The  man  up  swings  his  bat  quickly  at  the  first  pitch. 
There  is  a  sharp  report,  and  the  sphere  darts  away  on  a  line 
toward  the  vacant  spot  between  centre  and  right.  A  roar 
of  applause  rises  from  the  crowd,  for  a  safe  hit  means  two 
runs.  But  alas  for  their  hopes!  As  the  ball  passes  over 
the  head  of  the  second  baseman  he  leaps  into  the  air,  flings 
up  an  avaricious  hand,  and  pulls  it  down.  An  utter  death- 
like silence  follows  close  upon  that  incipient  abortive  cheer; 

253 


TALES    OF    BOWDOIN 

as  ever  set  foot  on  a  Maine  diamond;  M.  S.  C.  with  a  six- 
foot-six  centre-fielder,  who  dropped  on  one  knee  and  raised 
appealing  hands  heavenward  when  on  the  tx)int  of  making 
a  catch,  and  who  was  credited  with  the  power  of  throwing 
the  ball  from  his  position  over  the  catcher's  fence.  Perhaps 
it  was  Bates,  always  ready  for  a  stubborn  fi^ht.  Perhaps  it 
was  a  picked  team  from  Massachusetts,  filled  with  the  idea 
that  anything  was  good  enough  to  play  ball  down  in  Mame, 
who  went  back,  sadder  and  wiser  men,  after  having  made 
the  circuit  of  the  State  colleges  and  getting  unmercifully 
trounced  in  each. 

There  were  giants  in  the  Maine  league  in  those  days,  or 
at  least  so  they  seemed  to  undergraduate  eyes.  Goodwin, 
Wagg  and  Parsons  of  Colby;  Underwood.  Thayer  and 
Sandford  of  Bates;  Small,  Rogers  and  Ray  of  M.  S.  C. ; 
and  Bowdoin  men  from  whom  it  would  be  invidious  for  an 
alumnus  to  make  selections,  valorous  wielders  of  the  ash, 
mighty  on  the  coaching  lines  as  Achilles  good-at-the 
war-cry. 

What  memories  of  Sophomore-Freshman  wrangles,  of 
Senior  burlesques,  of  alumni  games  with  the  college  team 
trying  not  to  get  so  far  ahead  of  the  old  fellows  as  to  hurt 
their  feelings!  Some  graduates  may  remember  when  one 
tall  batter  performed  the  unduplicated  feat  of  putting  the 
ball  over  the  great  pine  in  centre  field.  Perhaps,  too,  some 
will  recall  the  song  of  Honorable  Michael  Coyne,  which  a 
soloist  whose  voice  has  been  heard  on  many  a  platform 
during  the  last  two  Presidential  campaigns,  sang  to  a  too 
partial  umpire,  with  the  front  row  of  the  grandstand  joining 
in  the  chorus,  the  crowd  cheering  and  laughing,  the  coachers 
shouting  from  the  sidelines,  and  the  unwilling  object  of 
these  attentions  endeavoring  to  make  his  voice  heard  above 
the  tumult. 

256 


THi:  OLD  de:i.ta 

One  of  the  most  curious  and  exciting  incidents  that  ever 
took  place  on  the  Delta  occurred  during  a  ^ame  with  Colby. 
The  Bowdoin  batter  knocked  a  grounder  to  the  infield,  and 
a  runner  started  home  from  third  base.  The  ball  was 
returned  to  the  catcher,  who  stood  about  four  feet  from  the 
plate.  Just  as  it  touched  his  hands  the  runner  dove  between 
his  legs,  upsetting  him,  and  down  he  came  on  the  shoulders 
of  his  antagonist,  pinning  him  to  the  ground.  The  shock 
caused  the  Colby  man  to  drop  the  ball,  which  rolled  two  or 
three  feet  away.  It  was  a  most  peculiar  situation.  There 
was  the  runner  with  eyes  bulging  from  his  head,  nailed  to 
the  ground  by  the  catcher's  weight,  straining  to  touch  the 
plate,  only  about  a  foot  from  the  tips  of  his  fingers.  There 
was  the  catcher  reaching  for  the  ball  just  about  a  foot  from 
his  finger-tips,  but  not  daring  to  rise,  for  that  would  let  the 
runner  make  the  coveted  distance.  Matters  were  in  this 
state  for  about  fifteen  seconds,  when  a  Bowdoin  player 
darted  from  the  bench,  seized  the  Colby  man  by  the  shoul- 
ders and  rolled  him  oflF,  allowing  the  runner  to  score.  Just 
at  this  time  the  entire  grandstand  emptied  itself  in  a  rush 
for  the  spot.  The  catcher  seized  a  bat  and  stood  on  the 
defensive;  but  every  one  soon  calmed  down  and  the  game 
went  on. 


BOWDOIN  UNDER  FIRE 

Charles  A.  Curtis,  '6i 


BOWDOIN   UNDER  TIRE 

I  CANNOT  contribute  something  concerning  the  Bow- 
doin  Battalion  of  the  early  Summer  of  1861,  without 
first  accounting  for  myself  and  explaining  how  I  came  to 
be  its  military  instructor. 

I  fitted  for  college  with  the  large  contingent  from  Lewis- 
ton  Falls  Academy  which  entered  Bowdoin  in  1857,  but  did 
not  present  myself  for  examination.  In  February  of  the 
following  year  I  entered  the  Military  College  of  Vermont 
and  received  full  instruction  in  infantry  and  artillery  tactics, 
in  fencing,  and  in  the  art  and  science  of  war.  From  early 
childhood  I  had  known  of  Bowdoin  and  had  looked  forward 
to  one  day  being  enumerated  among  its  students  and  grad- 
uates. Accident,  the  nature  of  which  it  is  unnecessary  to 
mention,  ordered  otherwise.  My,  journeys  four  times  a  year 
to  and  from  fitting  schools  and  the  Vermont  college,  from 
1855  to  1 86 1,  always  took  me  through  Brunswick  and  I 
rarely  neglected  to  stop  off  and  visit  Bowdoin  friends,  so 
that  my  acquaintance  there  was  never  fully  interrupted  until 
the  outbreak  of  the  Civil  War. 

At  the  Lewiston  Falls  Academy  my  fellow  students 
fancied  me  a  quasi-military  genius  and  regularly  selected 
me  for  marshal  of  their  academic  processions,  and  in  the 
Presidential  campaign  of  1856  they  made  me  commandant 
of  a  club  which  perpetrated  more  mischief  than  it  accom- 
plished good  for  the  party  of  Fremont  and  Dayton ;  notably 
the  alteration  of  a  Republican  flag  to  a  Democratic,  which 

261 


TALES    0^    BOWDOIN 

filled  the  papers  of  the  partisan  press  for  a  month  or  more 
and  frightened  the  reckless  perpetrators  of  the  prank  into  a 
silence  which  lasted  for  years. 

In  marching  this  youthful  Republican  club  my  tactics 
were  of  the  most  original  character,  and  it  was  probably 
owing  to  this  fact  that  the  Lewiston  Academy  boys  trans- 
ferred to  Bowdoin,  voted  to  a  man  against  the  proposition 
to  employ  mc  as  the  military  instructor  of  the  Bowdoin 
Battalion.  The  veterans  of  the  old  "F.  U."  could  not  realize 
that  their  former  commandant  had  improved  his  tactical 
knowledge. 

I  had  returned  to  my  native  State  in  the  Spring  of  i86i^ 
during  a  month's  vacation,  and  was  employed  in  drilling 
volunteers  for  the  Civil  War.  While  engaged  in  this  work 
in  the  Kennebec  valley  I  was  invited  to  visit  Brunswick  and 
meet  a  body  of  the  Bowdoin  students  with  a  view  to  its 
organization  as  a  battalion  for  military  drill. 

The  invitation  reached  me  near  the  close  of  my  vacation, 
when  T  was  getting  ready  to  return  to  the  Vermont  college ; 
but  the  proposition  proved  so  attractive  that  I  wrote  Pres- 
ident Woods  and  asked  if  I  might  be  allowed  to  attend 
Senior  recitations  and  lectures  if  I  accepted  the  students' 
offer.  He  kindly  consented  and  one  pleasant  afternoon  I 
stood  before  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  students  drawn 
up  in  line  before  King  Chapel.  Thus  I  took  my  first  step 
toward  becoming  an  alumnu^s  by  brevet  of  Bowdoin  College. 

The  student  battalion  was,  of  course,  ununiformed.  It 
was  composed  of  members  of  all  classes,  an  unsized  mass 
of  green,  but  intelligent  and  enthusiastic  young  men, 
who  seemed  thoroughly  in  earnest  and  proved  themselves 
promptly  responsive  to  every  command  given  them,  as  well 
as  attentive  to  all  lectures  and  explanations.  In  after  years, 
when  drilling  recruits  for  the  regular  army  and  finding  the 

262 


BOWDOIN    UND^R    ^IREJ 

task  weary,  and  irksome,  my  thoughts  have  frequently 
reverted  to  the  Bowdoin  Battalion,  the  members  of  which 
so  rapidly  and  readily  acquired  a  knowledge  of  the  drill. 

The  military  exercises,  as  before  remarked,  began  on  the 
campus  before  the  Chapel,  that  section  of  the  grounds  being 
at  that  time  unobstructed  by  trees  or  shrubbery.  Few 
instances  of  insubordination  occurred  as  the  work  pro- 
gressed. In  abandoning  the  inalienable  right  of  American 
citizens  to  buck  against  despotic  rule  or  to  submit  them- 
selves to  the  absolute  authority  of  a  military  commander, 
there  were  but  occasional  instances  of  objection — instances 
invariably  made  use  of  to  impress  the  young  soldiers  with 
the  necessity  of  maintaining  discipline  and  obeying  orders. 

The  one  serious  as  well  as  amusing  case  of  mischievous 
insubordination  I  will  now  relate.  One  afternoon,  some 
weeks  after  the  formal  organization  of  the  battalion  into 
companies  and  the  election  of  officers,  when  all  the  forma- 
tions and  marching  movements  had  been  quite  thoroughly 
learned,  a  dray  delivered  before  the  south  front  Chapel 
door  eight  boxes  containing  twenty  rifles  each.  This  door 
opened  into  a  room  which  had  been  assigned  the  corps  as 
an  armory.  Ready  and  willing  hands  conveyed  the  boxes 
to  the  interior,  where  they  were  opened  and  their  contents 
displayed  to  the  eager  youngsters.  A  first  view  of  the 
arms  showed  me  that  they  needed  cleaning  from  oil  and 
dirt,  and  I  accordingly  distributed  one  rifle  with  a  screw- 
driver to  each  student,  and  then  in  their  presence  took  one 
apart  and  assembled  it,  requiring  them  to  do  the  same. 
When  this  was  done  I  gave  some  further  instruction  con- 
cerning material  to  be  used  in  cleaning,  how  to  apply  it, 
and  how  to  keep  arms  and  accoutrements  in  serviceable 
condition,  and  then  ordered  every  one  to  take  his  rifle  to 
his  room  and  next  day  appear  in  line  with  it  in  proper  shape. 

263 


TALDS   OF    BOWDOIN 

That  evening  at  the  club  with,  which  I  messed — a  club 
occupying  a  house  near  the  Tontine  Hotel— a  student  asked 
me  how  to  make  a  cartridge.  This  was  in  the  days  of 
the  paper  cartridge  and  "load  in  nine  times."  I  told  him 
to  obtain  a  piece  of  wrapping  paper  and  I  would  show  him. 
He  went  out  and  soon  returned  with  sheets  of  manila  paper 
sufficient  to  supply  all  the  members  of  the  club,  and  by 
using  granulated  sugar  for  gunpowder  I  showed  them  how 
to  make  blank  cartridges. 

As  I  left  the  table  and  was  passing  througfh  the  hallway 
to  the  outer  door,  a  student  who  afterwards  became  a  gallant 
Colonel  of  volunteers,  asked  me  to  accompany  him  on  a 
drive  to  Topsham  and  into  the  country. 

I  gladly  accepted  the  invitation  and  when  I  had  taken  a 
seat  beside  my  friend  in  a  light  buggy  behind  a  fine  bay 
trotter,  all  the  boys  of  the  club  surrounded  us  and  wished 
me  an  enjoyable  excursion  and  begged  my  companion  to 
show  me  several  fine  moonlight  views  of  the  Androscoggin. 
He  assured  them  that  that  was  his  intention  and  told  his 
room-mate  not  to  look  for  his  return  until  eleven. 

The  drive  needs  little  description.  Everv  Bowdoin  boy 
has  been  over  the  ground  many  times,  driving,  riding  and 
walking.  My  companion  whiled  away  the  time,  as  we  spun 
rapidly  into  the  country,  by  relating  college  experiences — 
most  of  them  accounts  of  his  prowess  in  stealing  marches 
and  playing  tricks  upon  an  inappreciative  and  arbitrary 
Faculty, — stories  which,  after  the  college  manner,  never 
deal  with  cases  where  the  professor  proves  himself  the  better 
man,  but  which  always  magnify  the  student's  brilliancy  and 
art  in  concealing  his  motives  or  accomplishing^  results.  On 
the  return  drive  he  dropped  into  sentiment  and  confided 
to  me  the  fact  that  he  was  ardently  in  love  with  a  young 
lady  student  of  the  boarding-school  situated  opposite  the 

264 


BOWDOIN    UNDUR    FlR^ 

campus.  He  had  been  fond  of  her  for  a  longf  time  and  had 
exchanged  many  letters  and  gifts  with  her.  He  drew  from 
his  pocket  a  delicate  note  emitting  a  slight  odor  of  violets 
and  by  the  brilliant  moonlight  read  a  few  lines  in  which  the 
writer  said  that  if  he  would  come  over  that  evening  at 
half-past  ten  and  whistle  "Ever  of  Thee"  from  the  clump 
of  lilacs  beneath  her  window  she  would  throw  him  a  beauti- 
ful bouquet. 

"And  of  course  you  are  going  to  do  it?"  I  remarked. 

"That  is  what  I  wish  to  do,"  he  replied,  "but  I  don't 
believe  I  can  manage  the  tune."  And  directly  he  began  to 
whistle  something  which  bore  no  resemblance  whatever  to 
the  air  mentioned,  or  any  other  air. 

"Let  me  start  it  for  you,"  I  said,  and  I  sang  air  and 
words  through  and  paused. 

"That's  mighty  fine,"  he  observed.  "Now  I'll  try  it.'^ 
But  his  second  attempt  showed  no  improvement  over  the 
first.  He  slowed  the  horse  to  a  walk  and  I  patiently  whis- 
tled strain  after  strain  and  he  appeared  as  patiently  to  be 
trying  to  imitate  me,  but  succeeded  only  in  impressing  me 
with  the  conviction  that  music  had  no  place  in  his  soul. 

"Really,  I  fear  you  will  not  obtain  that  'beautiful  bouquet* 
unless  I  go  and  whistle  for  you." 

"Will  you — will  you — Mr.  Curtis  ?"  he  exclaimed.  "You 
do  not  know  what  a  favor  you  will  do  me  if  you  will !" 

"But  will  not  the  young  woman  see  two  in  the  bush  and 
fail  to  respond?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  We  can  reach  the  lilacs  without  being 
seen,  and  once  among  them  no  one  will  know  whether  we 
are  one,  two,  or  a  dozen.  Oh,  I'm  all  riie:ht!  I  knew  I 
was  vvhistling  wretchedly.  Give  me  your  hand  on  it  that 
you'll  never  tell  a  soul  of  this  confidence  I've  placed  in  you,, 
or  of  what  we  do." 

265 


TAI,^S   0:P    BOWDOIN 

I  gave  him  my  hand  and  he  made  me  wince  with  the 
fervor  of  his  clavSp.  Next  he  looked  at  his  watch  in  the 
moonliglit  and  remarked  that  we  must  continue  to  go  slow 
for  a  brief  time  longer  in  order  not  to  reach  the  seminary 
before  half-past  ten. 

My  companion  continued  to  unbosom  himself  of  many 
delightful  sentimentalities  and  each  succeeding  moonlit 
view  of  the  Androscoggin  valley  suggested  some  excursion, 
picnic,  walk  or  ride  in  which  she  of  the  lilac  bush  had  been 
a  participant;  but  in  time  we  reached  the  Tontine  stables, 
put  up  the  horse  and  took  our  way  up  through  the  Mall  to 
the  boarding-school. 

Screened  by  maples  and  elms  we  reached  the  school 
unseen,  crept  through  a  hedge  into  a  back  yard,  where  from 
lines  stretched  between  posts  and  trees  waved  the  spotless 
lingerie  of  the  sleeping  maidens,  and  at  last  stood  concealed 
in  a  dense  clump  of  lilacs  beneath  an  oriel  window,  from 
which  the  "beautiful  bouquet"  was  to  fall. 

I  found  it  difficult  to  make  the  preliminary  pucker,  for 
•my  lips  and  tongue  were  as  parched  as  those  of  a  stage- 
frightened  actor,  and  it  took  me  several  minutes  to  produce 
an  imperfect  and  sadly  modulated  imitation  of  "Ever  of 
Thee."  But  the  promptness  with  which  the  young  lady 
raised  the  sash,  thrust  out  a  shapely  and  snowy  arm  and 
dropped  a  bunch  of  fragrant  roses  showed  that  my  friend 
would  not  have  gone  unrewarded  had  he  done  his  own 
whistling  and  in  any  style. 

We  returned  to  the  street  without  delay  and  as  we  paused 
for  an  instant  on  the  sidewalk,  facing  the  long  line  of  c6llege 
buildings,  suddenly,  from  every  window  and  every  doorway 
of  every  dormitory  blazed  volleys  of  musketrv  filling  the  air 
with  the  rattle  of  irregular  discharge.  I  remained  standing 
in  fixed  surprise,  but  mv  companion  rushed,  without  a  word 

266 


BOWDOIN    UND^R    FIRE 

of  leave  taking,  across  the  road  at  the  top  of  his  speed, 
vaulted  over  the  fence  into  the  campus  and  ran  swiftly  for 
his  room  in  Appleton  Hall. 

I  did  not  run.  I  walked  slowly  in  the  tracks  of  my  wily 
friend,  busy  with  the  unpleasant  reflection  that  the  evening's 
drama  had  been  played  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  me  out 
of  the  way,  and  that  I  had  been  made  an  instrument  in 
aid  of  what  was  now  going  on.  I  had  showed  the  boys 
how  to  make  cartridges  and  for  the  five  hours  since  I  left 
the  supper  table  at  the  club,  a  hundred  and  fifty  youngsters 
had  been  busy  in  making  preparations  for  a  grand  fusi- 
lade, — ^yes,  they  had  successfully  kept  me  amused  and  suc- 
cessfully prevented  me  from  interfering  with  their  plans. 
The  constant  flash  and  unceasing  rattle  of  the  rifles  showed 
that  the  boys  had  wasted  no  time  in  their  preparations. 

Three  years  and  more  at  a  well -disciplined  military  school 
had  caused  me  to  forget  the  natural  impulse  of  youths  with 
firearms  in  their  hands,  and  I  had  never  once  suspected  the 
animating  cause  of  what  I  had  considered  a  commendable 
desire  to  know  how  to  make  a  cartridge.  Now  it  seemed 
plainly  evident  that  from  the  issue  of  arms  they  had  planned 
this  demonstration  and  that  every  man  of  the  Bowdoin 
Battalion  had  purchased  powder  and  percussion  caps  and 
worked  industriously  in  the  preparation  of  ammunition. 

I  took  my  way  to  the  Chapel  and  sat  down  on  the 
threshold  of  the  armory  and  continued  my  reflections  upon 
what  I  had  omitted  to  do  when  instructing  my  command  on 
the  cleaning  and  care  of  arms.  I  did  not  think  of  attempt- 
ing to  stay  the  demonstration  going  on.  I  knew  that  would 
be  practically  impossible.  I  simply  determined  that  at  the 
next  drill  I  would  take  measures  to  prevent  a  recurrence  of 
this  noisy,  dangerous  and  insubordinate  conduct.  In  the 
midst  of  these  resolutions  five  figures  approached  hurriedly 

267 


TAI,^S    OF    BOWDOIN 

from  one  of  the  paths — figures  I  presently  recognized  to 
be  those  of  the  President,  a  Professor  and  three  tutors,  and 
learned  they  were  in  search  of  me.  The  President  made 
an  instant  demand  that  I  should  stop  the  firing.  I  replied 
that  I  should  have  prevented  it  had  I  not  been  out  of  town 
when  the  students  were  preparing  for  it,  and  that  I  should 
have  stopped  it  promptly  upon  my  return  had  it  been  pos- 
sible— that  the  firing  was  too  general  and  scattered  for  one 
man  or  a  dozen  to  stop  it — that  an  attempt  to  do  so  would 
afford  the  participants  in  the  mischief  more  satisfaction 
than  they  were  now  deriving  from  mere  fire  and  noise.  But 
the  President  insisted  I  should  accompany  him  and  try 
to  stop  it. 

I  accordingly  joined  the  party  and  we  moved  toward 
Appleton,  I  walking  beside  the  Professor,  a  gentleman 
who  went  to  the  front  a  little  later  and  who  became  a 
Major  General  of  distinguished  ability  in  the  war,  and  who 
had  shown  considerable  interest  in  the  Bowdoin  Battalion, 
frequently  attending  its  drills,  listening  to  commands  and 
observing-  the  responsive  movements.  I  found  the  Pro- 
fessor entertained  the  same  opinion  I  did  of  the  firing.  He 
remarked  in  an  undertone:  "The  young  scamps  will  have 
to  carry  their  fun  to  the  end,  as  the  President  will  presently 
learn." 

As  we  approached  Appleton  we  found  the  north  end  in 
a  blaze  of  light;  flashes  of  exploding  gunpowder  streamed 
from  its  windows  and  doorway,  wreaths  of  smoke  rose 
above  its  roof  and  floated  into  the  pines  in  its  rear,  and  the 
noise  was  continuous  and  ear-splitting.  We  walked  toward 
the  door,  but  instantly  the  firing  party  concentrated  there 
and  filled  the  aperture  from  top  to  bottom  with  sheets  of 
flame  and  the  President  and  his  companions  flattened  their 
backs  against  the  brick  wall  and  waited. 

268 


BOWDOIN    UNDE:R    T^lRt 

"Oh,  Professor !"  shouted  an  irreverent  Sophomore  from 
a  window  overhead.  "First  time  under  fire ! — How  do  you 
like  it?" 

The  Professor  looked  amused  and  then  turning  to  the 
President  he  said: 

"Doctor,  I  think  Mr.  Curtis  is  right,  the  boys  will  have  to 
fire  their  last  cartridge  before  they  stop.  We  had  better 
adjourn." 

The  President  said  something  in  reply  which  I  did  not 
hear,  and  a  moment  later  the  party  disappeared  down  a  path 
toward  town.  Left  alone  I  again  approached  the  door, 
watched  for  a  lull  in  the  firing  and  dropping-  upon  all  fours 
dashed  under  the  rifle  muzzles  into  the  hallway  and  to  the 
room  of  one  of  my  officers. 

I  made  no  comment  upon  the  proceedings,  not  even  sug- 
gesting a  stay  of  them ;  but  sat  down  and  patiently  awaited 
their  cessation.  About  half-past  eleven  the  reports  became 
gradually  desultory,  and  at  last  ceased,  and  I  went  back  to 
my  room  in  Winthrop  Hall  and  to  bed.  Once  more,  near 
two  o'clock,  there  was  a  slight  resumption  of  firing  but 
lighter  than  before  and  lasting  less  than  a  quarter  of  an 
hour.     I  felt  satisfied  that  the  last  cartridge  had  been  fired. 

The  following  morning  while  at  a  late  breakfast  a  mes- 
senger from  President  Woods  summoned  me  to  his  office. 
I  found  the  eminent  gentleman  in  great  apparent  distress, 
disturbed  by  the  unusual  event  just  described  and  lack  of 
a  night's  sleep.  He  received  me  with  his  usual  distin- 
guished courtesy,  first  speaking  in  praise  of  the  military 
drill  and  commending  the  rapidity  with  which  it  had  been 
perfected.  He  said  he  had  watched  the  process  with  inter- 
est and  felt  pleased  with  the  promptness  in  attendance  which 
had  been  secured — a  promptness  the  good  effect  of  which 
the  whole  college  felt  in  the  improved  attendance  at  chapel 

269 


TAI,e:S   01?    BOWDOIN 

and  recitations;  but  that  last  night's  experience  had  con- 
vinced him  that  firearms  should  never  be  intrusted  to  the 
hands  of  the  ordinary  college  boy  and  that  under  no  circum- 
stances should  they  have  in  their  possession  the  means  of 
discharging  them. 

I  replied  that  I  had  been  connected  with  a  college  where 
arms  were  constantly  in  the  hands  of  its  corps  of  cadets, 
and  that  no  firing  occurred  there  except  by  order,  and  that 
I  could  efifect  the  same  observance  at  Bowdoin. 

The  President  dififered  from  me.  He  said  Bowdoin  was 
not  under  military  discipline,  that  its  Faculty  was  unac- 
quainted with  military  methods  of  enforcing  discipline,  and 
that  over  twenty  years  experience  in  governing  the  young 
had  taught  him  the  wisdom  of  removing  special  tempta- 
tions from  their  way. 

I  pleaded  hard  for  the  military  feature — promised  that 
if  he  would  turn  the  management  of  the  matter  aver  to  me 
I  would  guarantee  that  a  similar  disturbance  should  never 
again  take  place. 

He  commended  my  self-confidence — acknowledged  it  was 
an  excellent  trait  for  a  military  man — and  apologized  for 
doubting  if  a  boy  could  develop  the  necessary  authority 
over  boys  to  warrant  the  college  government  in  permitting 
the  students  to  longer  continue  in  possession  of  dangerous 
weapons;  finally  reluctantly  consenting  to  permit  firing  at 
drills  for  practice  and  under  orders;  but  insisting  that 
rifles  and  ammunition  should  be  regularly  locked  in  the 
armory  at  the  close  of  each  day's  military  exercises. 

It  will  be  difficult,  no  doubt,  for  me  to  reconcile  my  sub- 
sequent conduct  with  my  military  profession.  At  Norwich 
I  had  been  taught  to  obey  orders  unquestioningly,  and  for 
nearly  four  years  had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing  so.  But 
when  my  battalion  fell  in  the  following  day  with  shining 

270 


BOWDOIN    UNDE:R    FIRE) 

rifles  and  bayonets  and  polished  accoutrements ;  when  I  saw- 
it  march  down  Maine  street  to  the  Topsham  bridge  in  per- 
fect alignment  and  step ;  in  column  of  company  or  platoons ; 
in  parallel  lines  or  extended  column ;  performing  a  succes- 
sion of  evolutions  without  an  error  or  break,  and  when  after 
a  double-quick  return  to  the  college  I  broug^ht  it  into  line 
before  the  Chapel,  a  resolution  formed  and  became  fixed 
that  I  must  show  the  President  that  this  o^allant  corps  of 
American  boys  was  susceptible  of  thorough  military  control. 
I  reflected  that  failure  would  cost  me  little  and  success 
would  mean  not  only  much  for  me  but  for  all  these  boys. 
However,  I  did  not  at  once  yield  to  temptation  and  to  my 
desire  to  show  that  military  control  could  be  successfully 
exercised  over  the  Bowdoin  students;  I  waited  until  the 
third  day  after  my  interview  with  President  Woods. 

Before  dismissing  the  battalion  on  the  third  day  I  made 
a  short  speech.  I  did  not  tell  of  my  interview  with  the  head 
of  the  college,  and  the  surviving  members  of  the  battalion 
who  may  chance  to  read  this  will  now  first  learn  of  it.  I 
simply  dwelt  upon  the  gravity  of  their  recent  conduct 
from  a  military  point  of  view,  and  of  the  disappointment 
it  had  caused  me.  In  acknowledging  the  fact  that  we  were 
only  playing  soldier  I  strongly  insisted  we  should  play  it 
up  to  the  best  model.  In  closing  I  said :  "Every  man  who 
will  promise  me  on  his  honor  as  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier 
that  he  will  not  again  fire  his  rifle  except  under  the  com- 
mand of  recognized  authority  or  in  the  execution  of  duty, 
or  do  any  other  act  likely  to  bring  discredit  upon  our  organ- 
ization, will,  at  the  command  'March,'  advance  four  paces 
to  the  front  and  halt." 

I  gave  the  order  and  the  whole  line  advanced  one,  two, 
three,  four  steps  in  perfect  time  and  stood  fast  and  silent! 
From  that  day  until  I  left  Bowdoin  for  the  Army  of  the 

271 


TAI^ieS   01?    BOWDOIN 

Potomac  each  student  had  charge  of  his  rifle  and  equip- 
ments. 

July  i6th  arrived  and  I  had  made  arrangements  to  accom- 
pany a  Maine  regiment  to  Washington  on  the  17th.  I 
called  on  President  Woods  to  say  good  by  and  then  con- 
fessed that  I  had  disobeyed  his  orders  in  reg-ard  to  keeping 
the  arms  in  the  armory.  He  showed  no  surprise,  but  sur- 
prised me  by  saying  that  he  knew  of  the  course  I  had  taken, 
and  that  while  he  could  not  commend  it  or  think  it  con- 
sistent with  my  otherwise  excellent  military  conduct,  he 
would  frankly  acknowledge  that  I  had  excellent  control  of 
my  command  and  that  he  was  fast  becoming-  a  convert  to 
the  advantages  of  military  methods  in  managing  the  young. 

For  years  in  the  army  I  continued  to  meet  brave  and 
gallant  officers  who  had  taken  their  primary  military 
instruction  in  the  Bowdoin  Battalion.  The  triennial  cata- 
logue contains  the  names  of  many  men  who  filled  well  every 
grade  from  Lieutenant  to  Major  General,  who  were  first 
under  fire  at  Bowdoin  on  the  memorable  night  I  have 
attempted  to  describe. 

The  same  afternoon  upon  which  I  took  leave  of  President 
Woods  I  called  at  the  young  ladies'  boarding  school  to 
say  adieu  to  some  pleasant  friends  I  had  made  there.  As 
I  paused  in  the  hall  to  lay  aside  my  hat  I  heard  some  one 
in  an  adjoining  parlor  playing  ''Ever  of  thee  I'm  fondly 
dreaming,"  while  some  one  else  was  executing  a  whistling 
accompaniment  which  was  certainly  artistically  performed. 
Looking  in  at  the  door  I  saw  the  maiden  of  the  snowy  arm, 
who  once  dropped  a  bouquet  from  an  oriel  window,  looking 
up  fondly  into  the  eye?  of  my  companion  of  the  Topsham 
drive,  and  heard  her  say :  "And  he  really  never  suspected 
you  could  whistle  it?" 

272 


AN  INQUISITION  OF   1835 

James  Plaisted  Webber,  'oo 


m   INQUISITION  or   1535 

IT  is  the  year  1835,  fifteen  years  before  Harriet  Beecher 
Stowe  began  writing  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin"  in  the  white 
house  on  "Back"  Street,  twenty-five  years  before  Major 
Anderson  pulled  down  the  Stars  and  Stripes  at  Fort 
Sumpter. 

Conservative  Brunswick  town  still  looks  askance  at  anti- 
slavery  movements  and  feels  that  it  is  a  pity  that  such  a 
man  as  Prof.  Blithe  should  so  compromise  his  dignity  as 
to  identify  himself  with  the  unpopular  cause.  It  is  well 
known  that  he  is  an  active  station  agent  of  the  underground 
railway.  Time  and  again  in  the  dusk  of  twilight  a  black 
face  has  appeared  at  the  Professor's  door  and  a  second  later 
been  hurried  within  to  depart, — none  can  tell;  only  the 
runaway,  if  such  he  be,  disappears. 

Remonstrance  and  pleading  are  alike  unavailing.  The 
Professor  never  swerves.  Carry  on  his  transportation,  he 
will.  Popularity  and  unpopularity  are  of  small  account  to 
Professor  Blithe.  The  earnest  soul  says,  "I  try  to  carry 
out,  as  far  as  in  me  lies,  the  duties  which  I  feel  God  has 
placed  upon  me." 

Sympathy  awaits  him,  nevertheless,  in  at  least  one  place. 
That  is  amidst  the  young  democracy  of  his  classroom, 
among  the  enthusiastic  lads  who  in  their  manhood  will  shed 
their  blood  for  this  very  cause,  even  as  with  words  they 
fight  out  the  Professor's  battles  with  the  townspeople. 

275 


TAI,ES   OP    BOWDOIN 

But  townspeople  are  riot  the  only  ones  to  look  with  dis- 
favor on  Professor  Blithe's  conduct.  The  Board  of  Trus- 
tees has  long  since  got  wind  of  his  doing^s  and  frequent 
discussion  of  the  case  ripens  into  a  determination  to  make 
some  change  in  the  Chair  of  Mathematics.  Upon  what 
ground  shall  they  take  this  action  and  what  shall  be  the 
nature  of  the  change  ?  The  last  question  is  left  hanging  in 
air,  but  the  first  is  readily  answered.  No  matter  how  fine 
a  master  of  Mathematics  a  professor  may  be,  (and  Pro- 
fessor Blithe  was  peer  to  the  best),  there  are,  as  everyone 
knows,  in  every  college  class  some  notable  laggards  and 
dullards.  The  Board  decides  then  to  swoop  down  suddenly 
upon  one  of  Professor  Blithe's  recitations,  notice  that  at 
least  one  or  two  men  do  not  seem  proficient  in  their  work, 
and  then  make  the  change,  whatever  it  may  be,  on  the 
ground  that  while  undoubtedly  Professor  Blithe  is  himself 
a  competent  mathematician,  his  classes  are  not  making  quite 
the  progress  desired. 

News  of  the  plot,  however,  reaches  one  of  the  boys  the 
day  before  the  proposed  investigation.  After  class  he  noti- 
fies every  member  of  the  scheme  to  entrap  Professor  Blithe 
and  each  turns  away  with  a  look  of  determination.  If  you 
call  at  the  room  of  any  of  those  fellows  early  that  evening, 
you  will  find  the  door  locked.  If  you  poundand  kick  until 
you  get  a  response  it  will  only  be  that  the  occupant  is  too 
busy  to  see  you  and  that  you  had  better  go  to  blazes.  If 
you  call  an  hour  or  two  later,  you  probably  will  meet  with 
the  same  cordial  reception.  At  midnight  the  tallow-dips 
still  twinkle  in  many  a  room  in  Winthrop  and  Maine.  How 
much  later  they  burn  depends  upon  their  owner's  ability  in 
Mathematics. 

At  early  chapel,  the  following  morning,  there  enter  three 
austere  individuals,  doleful  as  a  coroner's  jury.     Many  of 

276 


AN    INQUISITION   O^    1835 

the  students  do  not  know  who  they  are  nor  the  cause  of 
their  visit  to  Bowdoin,  but  everyone  taking  Mathematics 
knows.  Professor  BUthe  too  is  not  long  in  interpreting  the 
sinister  glance  cast  upon  him  as  he  takes  his  place. 

An  hour  later  the  examination  begins.  The  Three 
Worthies  sit  on  a  little,  raised,  platform  in  the  recitation 
room  in  old  Massachusetts,  while  Professor  Blithe  standing 
near  by  with  his  face  full  of  serenity  opens  the  recitation. 

"Wigand." 

Wigand !  Everybody  knew  that  he  was  the  worst  man 
in  the  class.  Why  wouldn't  the  Professor  confine  his  recita- 
tion as  nearly  as  possible  to  the  brilliant  men?  Why 
wouldn't  he  at  least  make  a  good  beginning,  say  with 
Dalton,  or  Dole,  the  prize  men,  or  with  some  of  the  lesser 
lights?  But  Professor  Blithe  would  sooner  turn  the  odds 
against,  than  favor  himself.  "Wigand,"  repeats  the  Pro- 
fessor, "You  may  demonstrate  the  first  theorem."  The 
aforesaid  Wigand  has  not  opened  his  head  in  recitation  for 
two  weeks,  but  he  is  beginning  right ; — beginning  right,  yes, 
he  is  continuing  right.  Through  all  the  mazes  of  a  really 
complicated  figure  he  goes  to  his  "Q.  E.  D.,"  which  he  gives 
with  great  gusto.  With  a  feeling  of  relief,  the  class  settles 
back,  expecting  that  the  next  man  up  will  be  one  of  the  real 
scholars. 

"Bower!"  calls  Professor  Blithe.  Bower  is  a  hard- 
working, slow-thinking  chap  who  always  gets  confused 
under  unusual  circumstances  and  requires  two  weeks  every 
time  he  has  a  new  instructor  before  he  gains  confidence 
enough  to  do  himself  justice.  "Bower,"  says  the  Professor, 
"may  give  the  converse."  A  deep  flush  spreads  over 
Bower's  face,  as  the  blood  rushes  to  his  head,  and  an 
ominous  tremor  accompanies  his  first  words.  Then  with  a 
clenched  fist  and  a  "do-it-or-die"  look  in  his  eye,  in  a  tone  of 

^77 


TAI,^S    01^    BOWDOIN 

sdf-confidence  which  must  have  amazed  even  himself  he 
landed  safely  on  his  conclusion. 

A  feeling  of  enthusiasm  now  seized  the  class.  Man  after 
man  made  a  brilliant  recitation,  ten-strikes  they  would  be 
called  in  modern  days. 

Nothing  of  criticism  or  correction  was  offered  until 
Twing,  the  last  man  to  recite,  was  half  way  through  the 
last  theorem  of  the  lesson.  Then  one  of  the  Worthies, 
glancing  at  his  neighbors,  as  if  to  say  "Now  or  never," 
prepared  to  interrupt  the  speaker.  **Youn^  man !"  he  broke 
forth,  "Young  man,  go  back  and  prove  that  line  a  byline 
c  d.  You  did  not  make  that  sufficiently  clear."  Poor  old 
muddle-headed  Trustee!  Twing  had  shown  twice  in  the 
course  of  his  demonstration  that  the  two  were  unequal,  and 
he  politely  said  as  much,  to  the  confusion  of  the  inquisitor. 

A  moment  later  the  hour  was  over  and  with  it  closed  a 
Mathematics  recitation  whose  like,  I  imagine,  has  never 
been  seen  before  or  since  at  Bowdoin  or  any  other  college. 
The  boys  with  enthusiastic  congratulation  went  to  their  next 
recitation.  The  Three  Worthies,  after  shaking  hands  stiffly 
with  Professor  Blithe,  betook  themselves  to  the  old  Tontine 
that  they  might  leave  Brunswick  on  the  next  stage  for 
Portland.  Professor  Blithe  wended  his  way  homeward, 
where  he  fitted  out  a  packet  for  Sambo  Snowball,  who  had 
arrived  from  "Ole  Virginny,  Sah !"  via  Boston  and  Bath, 
that  morning,  and  must  be  shipped  Canada-ward  immedi- 
ately, and  then  from  his  study  window  he  threw  to  the 
breezes  that  swayed  the  whispering  pines  the  first  Abolition 
flag  floated  in  Cumberland  County. 


RA^fDOM  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  J87J-5 

Christopher  H.  Wells,  '75 


RANDOM  RECOLLECTIONS  OE   1571-5 

STALE  of  BowdoinI  But  where  shall  one  begin  to 
write,  and  having  once  begun  where  shall  he  end? 
The  experiences  of  a  four  years'  course  in  college,  delightful 
as  they  are,  crowd  confusingly  in  one's  memory  after  the 
lapse  of  a  quarter  of  a  century.  One  who  would  record 
them  hardly  sees  where  he  may  first  touch  upon  them,  and 
once  they  have  begun  to  be  expressed  they  continue  crowd- 
ing so  earnestly  and  in  such  a  multitude  that  they  almost 
command  the  pen  to  continue  its  work  indefinitely.  What- 
ever may  be  written  here,  however,  will  necessarily  be  at 
random,  and  disconnected,  and  will  pertain  to  the  lighter 
rather  than  to  the  more  serious  side  of  college  life.  Some- 
how or  other  those  things  which  we  go  to  college  to  acquire 
and  which  we  ought  to  remember  pass  quickly  from  our 
minds,  while  all  the  things  that  we  were  expected  not  to 
learn  cling  to  our  mcm.ory  with  most  delightful  tenacity. 

A  college  course,  therefore,  is  not,  in  the  memory  of  the 
average  student,  a  succession  of  recitations  and  studies,  of 
roots  and  cosines,  essays  and  discussions,  but  it  is  a  vita- 
scopic  picture  of  many  a  delightful  walk  and  trip,  of  jokes 
and  capers  and  unmalicious  pranks  springing  out  of  health- 
ful and  vigorous  animal  spirits.  Poor  Richard  has  said  that 
"Kings  and  bears  often  worry  their  keepers."  He  should 
to  these  have  added  college  boys  as  a  source  of  worriment  to 
those  under  whose  charge  they  are.  If  a  chastening  influ- 
ence makes  men  better,  college  presidents  and  professors, 

281 


TALES    OF    BOWDOIN 

who  are  at  all  times  subjected  to  the  quiet  criticism  and 
ingenious  opposition  of  students,  must  be  about  as  near 
perfect  as  human  beings  well  can  be. 

Doubtless  Bowdoin  has  changed  much  since  the  class  of 
'75  left  it.  Educational  institutions  chanjere  in  spirit  and 
policy  in  the  course  of  years.  The  alumni  of  preceding 
years  fear  that  these  changes  are  not  for  the  better,  and 
though  the  process  of  evolution  leads  upward  and  the 
educational  movement  is  ahead,  yet  there  are  some  con- 
ditions of  the  olden  times  which  we  would  like  to  see 
remaining. 

A  quarter  of  a  centtiry  ago  the  boys  at  Bowdoin  consti- 
tuted a  big  family.  There  were  the  Greek  letter  societies, 
of  course,  and  at  the  beginning  of  each  year  there  was  con- 
siderable activity  in  "fishing"  for  candidates,  but  after  these 
had  been  selected  and  initiated,  society  life  was  not  unduly 
conspicuous  in  our  college  experiences.  The  societies  tried 
to  get  the  popular  men,  or  the  best  scholars,  but  in  the 
general  life  of  the  college  then  there  was  but  little  evidence 
of  clique  or  faction.  The  students  participated  in  affairs 
of  friendship  or  society  without  special  reference  to  what 
Greek-letter  organization  they  belonged  to.  There  was  an 
air  of  comradeship  running  through  the  college,  a  communal 
feeling  that  made  for  the  best  results,  both  for  the  students 
and  the  college  itself.  Under  such  conditions  a  college  is 
a  grand  school  of  democracy.  It  brings  out  the  best  there 
is  in  the  student  and  places  merit  and  character  above  adven- 
titious circumstances.  The  recollections  of  a  college  life 
under  such  conditions  are  broad  and  catholic  and  peculiarly 
pleasant  and  satisfying.  The  recent  tendencv  in  college. life 
seems  to  be  in  the  direction  of  a  narrower  field  of  associ- 
ation, of  a  more  restricted  spirit  of  loyalty  to  college.  The 
secret  society  seems  to  be  uppermost  in  college  life,  and 

282 


RANDOM    RliCOLIvECTlONS    OF    1 87 1 -75 

the  life  of  the  student  comes  within  the  narrower  circle  of 
its  influence.  The  breadth  of  college  life,  the  strength  of 
college  friendships  and  the  fullness  of  college  memories 
cannot  be  tlie  same  tmder  such  environment  as  they  were  in 
days  now  long  gone. 

"Bowdoin  in  the  Rebellion"  has  been  written,  but,  strange 
to  relate,  there  is  no  reference  whatever  to  that  most 
momentous  occurrence,  the  Rebellion  of  '74.  This  is  one 
of  the  most  important  events  in  the  history  of  the  college 
and  it  seems  as  though  allusion  to  it  may  properly  be  made. 

The  class  of  '75  was  made  the  subject  of  various  experi- 
ments. The  members  were  healthy  looking  boys  with  gen- 
erous appetites  and  a  large  fund  of  animal  spirits,  and  the 
Faculty  probably  thought  that  they  would  be  good  subjects 
to  begin  on.  So  it  was  decided  that  military  drill  should 
be  introduced  into  the  college  course  coincidently  with  our 
arrival.  The  preliminaries  to  such  an  experience  were 
rapidly  passed  over,  uniforms  of  the  West  Point  pattern 
were  made  by  Bob  Robertson,  the  tailor,  and  we  were  soon 
in  the  full  gorgeousness  of  military  embellishment. 

It  was  not  so  bad  at  first,  marching  around  in  military 
manoeuvres  and  handling  the  gun  in  the  manual  of  arms. 
Moreover  it  vv^as  splendid  exercise  for  the  body,  tending  to 
make  one  erect  and  strong  and  of  easy  carriage.  Our  com- 
mandant was  Major  Joseph  P.  Sanger,  U.  S.  A.,  an  artillery 
officer,  now  in  service  in  Cuba.  He  was  a  diminutive  man 
physically,  but  mentally  he  was  clear  and  strong  and  a  finely 
equipped  officer.  The  boys  all  liked  him  and  he  displayed 
great  tact  and  kindness  in  his  treatment  of  them.  He 
carried  himself  splendidly,  and  when  in  full  uniform  one 
forgot  that  he  was  not  a  six-footer. 

283 


TAI,i:s    01^    BOWDOIN 

Pretty  soon  we  became  fairly  proficient  in  the  drill  and 
took  trips  about  the  town.  At  one  time  we  appeared  at  the 
agricultural  fair  at  Topsham.  A  circular  is  now  before  the 
writer  in  relation  to  that  event,  for  a  controversy  arose  con- 
cerning it.  Our  artillerists  fired  a  salute  to  Governor  Per- 
ham  from  our  twelve-pound  battery.  The  rustic  steeds, 
hitched,  or  standing  free,  about  the  trotting^  park,  were  not 
expecting  such  a  sudden  and  deafening  volume  of  sounds, 
and  as  soon  as  the  first  gun  was  fired  there  was  a  commotion 
observable  in  all  portions  of  the  grounds,  a  noticeable  feat- 
ure of  which  was  the  desire  of  the  aforesaid  steeds  to  jump 
over  the  fence  and  make  for  home.  After  four  guns  were 
fired,  the  order  to  cease  firing  was  given,  owing  to  the 
evident  disturbance  in  equine  conditions.  A  controversy 
arose  among  the  fair  officials  as  to  who  was  responsible 
for  the  order  to  fire  a  salute,  and  circulars  and  newspaper 
articles  M^ere  published  on  both  sides.  It  may  be,  said,  how- 
ever, that  Major  Sanger  and  the  Bowdoin  cadets  came  out 
of  the  affair  with  flying  colors. 

Another  incident  of  that  day  comes  back  to  the  writer. 
Major  Sanger,  being  in  full  dress,  wore  his  spurs.  He  had 
the  companies  formed  in  line  marching  across  the  parade 
ground  in  battalion  front,  and  was  himself  marching  back- 
ward in  order  to  keep  his  eyes  on  the  young  warriors  in  the 
ranks.  Unfortunately,  however,  one  of  the  major's  spurs 
stuck  into  a  miniature  eminence  which  had  probably  once 
jbeen  the  birthplace  of  an  humble  potato,  and  as  he  did  so 
he  fell  backward  on  the  ground.  His  humiliation  and  the 
amusement  of  the  cadets  may  easily  be  imagined.  The 
smile  on  the  faces  of  the  boys  was  so  loud  that  it  is  a 
wonder  the  horses  were  not  frightened  a  second  time. 

284 


RANDOM    RECOLLECTIONS    OE    187I-75 

Still  another  incident  of  our  military  life  comes  up  in 
memory.  Some  of  the  artillerists  went  over  to  Topsham 
one  Fall  to  fire  a  salute  on  the  occasion  of  a  certain  impor- 
tant public  event,  and  after  the  salute  had  been  fired  the 
firers  were  taken  by  a  Topsham  man  of  very  hospitable 
nature  to  his  house.  They  were  of  course  very  thirsty  after 
their  active  work  in  firing  minute  guns,  and  the  gentleman 
took  them  down  into  his  wine  cellar.  It  was  a  very  impos- 
ing place,  with  its  tiers  of  barrels  and  its  various  bottles 
and  jugs.  We  were  not  there  to  ask  questions  and  when 
cur  host  drew  out  a  tin  dipperful  of  a  red  liquid  from  a 
barrel,  h**-  handed  it  to  one  of  the  boys,  undoubtedly  expect- 
ing us  all  to  slake  our  thirst  out  of  that  one  dipperful. 
The  first  cadet,  however,  swallowed  the  whole  dipperful, 
and  our  host  was  therefore  obliged  in  courtesy  to  draw  out 
an  equal  amount  for  each  one.  It  all  went  with  the  same 
gusto,  and  no  questions  were  asked  as  to  its  alcoholic  poten- 
tiality. It  was  our  first  experience  with  the  army  canteen. 
Of  course  we  had  a  very  jolly  time,  and  as  we  look  back  at 
it  now,  it  seems  to  have  been  a  very  thoughtful  act  for  our 
host  to  have  his  team  sent  around  to  carry  us  home. 

But  the  seeds  of  mutiny  were  sown  when  the  students 
began  to  realize  that  the  drill  was  obligatory.  Human 
nature  seems  especially  averse  to  doing  that  which  it  is 
under  compulsion  to  do.  The  various  general  orders  and 
accumulating  restrictions  presented  upon  the  chapel  bulle- 
tin-board fanned  the  flames  of  sedition  until  finally  the 
students,  in  May,  1874,  rebelled,  refusing  to  report  for  duty. 
They  were  called  individually  before  the  Faculty  and  on 
persisting  in  their  policy  of  disobedience  were  sent  home. 
Their  arrivals  at  the  ancestral  domicile  were  followed  a  few 
days  later  by  a  circular  from  President  Chamberlain,  giving 
a  statement  of  the  case  from  the  Faculty's  point  of  view. 

28s 


TALi:S    OF    EOWDOIN 

Of  course  we  were  wrong,  and  we  all  went  back  and  sub- 
mitted to  the  rules  of  the  college,  but  the  backbone  of  the 
drill  was  broken,  and  it  died  a  speedy  and  unregretted  death 
as  a  Bowdoin  institution. 

We  used  to  have  some  great  gymnasium  work  in  our 
day.  Dudley  A.  Sargent,  now  at  Harvard,  had  charge  of 
the  gymnastic  work  at  Bowdoin,  and  a  fine  gymnast  and 
athlete  he  was,  too.  Some  of  the  public  exhibitions  given 
in  those  years  at  Brunswick,  Portland  and  other  places 
comprised  really  remarkable  gymnastic  feats.  The  double 
eschelle  we  considered  a  crowning  act  of  muscular  skill  and 
daring.  Sargent  was  a  fine  performer  on  the  horizontal 
bar,  and  excelled  in  trapeze-balancing  and  other  feats. 
Once,  I  remember,  an  entertainment  of  gymnastics  con- 
tained a  feature  that  was  not  anticipated  by  the  performers. 
One  number  of  the  program  was  somersaults  from  a  spring- 
board. The  board  would  give  the  leaper  additional  energy 
and  he  would  sail  into  the  air,  turn  leisurely  over  and  come 
down  on  his  feet.  That  is:  this  is  what  he  was  expected 
to  do.  On  this  occasion,  however,  there  was  a  departure 
from  these  lines.  Either  some  one  arranged  the  spring- 
bar  wrong  side  up,  or  else  the  gymnasts  had  an  attack  of 
stage  fright,  for  one  after  another  leaped,  but  could  not 
turn,  and  came  down  on  the  mattress  flat  on  his  back.  The 
spectators  enjoyed  this  fully  as  much  as  thev  did  the  most 
startling  features  on  the  program. 

Although  Brunswick  is  far  removed  from  the  centre  of 
circles  in  which  the  aquatic  spirit  most  strongly  prevails, 
yet  in  those  years  she  turned  out  some  good  crews  and  has 
since  rendered  a  good  account  of  herself  on  the  water. 
There  used  to  be  an  old  patched  shell  that  had  seen  better 

286 


RANDOM    RE:cOI,I,KCTIONS    OF    1871-75 

days,  and  four  of  us  landlubbers  used  to  take  it  occasion- 
ally for  a  row  down  the  river.  There  was  nothing  profes- 
sional about  our  stroke  and  we  never  took  any  prizes  or 
medals  for  efficiency  as  oarsmen,  but  we  had  great  times 
just  the  same.  Each  man  had  his  own  ideas  as  to  about 
how  rowing  should  be  done,  and  as  to  about  how  often  it 
was  desirable  to  add  to  the  stroke-precision  by  catching 
a  crab.  The  necessity  of  frequent  bailing  was  so  great, 
owing  to  the  leaky  condition  of  the  boat,  that  it  was  a 
question  on  the  whole  as  to  whether  the  boat  went  any 
faster  horizontally  than  it  settled  vertically.  It  was  a  case 
of  the  pan  being  mightier  than  the  oar. 

There  is  before  the  writer  a  little  circular  which  is  worded 
as  follows : 

BowDOiN  College,  Oct.  18,  '71. 
SiK :— I  am  happy  to  extend  to  you  an  Invitation  to  become  a  member 
of  the  Peucinian  Society.  A.  P.  WIS  WELL.  Secretary. 

Initiation  will  take  place  Thursday  eve,  Oct.  19th,  1871. 

The  invitation  is  about  all  the  writer  remembers  of  that 
old  society,  which,  once  so  useful  to  the  student,  had,  even 
in  our  day,  in  company  with  its  fellow  society  the  Athenean, 
begun  to  go  into  decay.  The  initiation  was  brief  and  not 
entirely  unimpressive.  The  candidates  then  learned  the 
true  meaning  of  the  term  pinos  loquentes.  Bro.  Wiswell, 
the  secretary,  was  assigned  to  the  rear  of  the  writer's  chair, 
and  he  has  always  felt  that  the  thinness  of  hair  on  the  top 
of  his  cranium  was  due  to  the  vigor  with  which  the  present 
Chief  Justice  of  Maine  caused  the  pine  to  speak  for  itself. 

A  great  many  college  pranks  come  to  mind,  but  the  neces- 
sarily restricted  lim.its  of  this  article  will  permit  mention 
of  but  few  of  them. 

287 


tai,e:s  op*  bowdoin 

There  used  to  be  a  town  liquor  agency  in  Brunswick  on 
the  main  street,  not  far  from  Billy  Coffin's  oyster-house.  In 
front  of  the  building  was  a  large  sign,  placed  well  up  over 
the  door.  The  younger  students  had  often  cast  longing 
eyes  at  that  sign,  and  it  was  believed  that  it  would  be  some- 
thing of  an  ornament  to  the  college  grounds  if  it  could  be 
confiscated.  But  the  place  was  so  public,  and  the  police- 
man of  that  section  seemed  to  devote  so  much  of  his  time 
to  that  vicinity,  that  any  designs  on  that  sign  seemed  not 
to  promise  success.  One  night,  however,  things  looked  pro- 
pitious for  the  attempt.     George  S and  Frank  V , 

whom  we  called  **Pete"  for  short,  were  in  the  party,  and 
one  or  two  others  whose  names  I  do  not  now  recall.  We 
placed  barrels  and  planks  against  the  building  and  suc- 
ceeded in  wrenching  the  sign  loose  and  taking  it  down. 
Just  then  the  alarm  was  given  that  some  one  was  approach- 
ing. It  was  the  cop,  and  haste  v/as  necessary.  George 
grabbed  the  front  end  of  the  big  sign  and  the  rest  of  us 
arranged  ourselves  alongside  at  various  points.  The  way 
that  sign  moved  up-street,  with  the  animated  legs  under- 
neath, must  have  suggested  to  a  nocturnal  observer  the 
thought  of  a  many-legged  creature  of  the  centipede  variety. 
Pete,  however,  who  was  on  principle  opposed  to  active 
physical  exercise,  lagged  behind  and  the  policeman  captured 
him.  The  sign  was  safely  deposited  under  Appleton  Hall, 
and  on  Pete's  not  showing  up  in  due  season  we  all  proceeded 
back  down  town  to  see  what  the  matter  was.  As  we  walked 
down  the  Mall  the  dejected  form  of  Pete  came  in  view 
through  the  darkness.  Now  Pete  in  his  happiest  moments 
had  a  solemn  look  on  his  countenance  that  ill-comported 
with  his  naturally  jolly  nature,  and  when  he  actually 
was  dejected  his  countenance  expressed  absolute,  awful, 
unspeakable  wretchedness.     We  could  almost  feel  the  mis- 

288 


RANDOM    RECOLIylCCTlONS    OE    1 87 1 "75 

ery  emanate  from  his  countenance  as  he  drew  near.  "It's 
no  use,  boys/'  said  he  in  sepulchral  tones,  "the  jig  is  up. 
You've  got  to  return  that  sign."  It  seems  that  the  police- 
man decided  to  let  Pete  off  on  condition  that  he  would 
agree  that  the  sign  should  be  returned.  So  to  save  Pete 
we  had  to  take  that  long-desired  sign  back  and  place  it 
again  over  the  door,  under  the  supervision  of  the  officer, 
interspersing  our  efforts  with  remarks  uncomplimentary 
to  police  officers  in  general  and  the  Brunswick  police  in 
particular. 

"Tute"  Card,  the  hackman,  was  a  familiar  figure  about 
town,  and  the  students  all  knew  him,  some  of  them  to  their 
cost.  Tute  was  a  sly  one.  Occasionally  he  used  to  ask 
the  boys  to  ride  down  town  from  the  depot  in  his  carriage, 
and  would  make  no  charge  for  it.  This  was  deemed  quite 
a  favor.  One  day,  however,  he  put  up  a  job  on  some  of 
the  boys.  He  had  a  crony  with  him  and  the  crony,  said  to 
several  of  the  students,  "Don't  you  want  to  ride  down  to 
the  post-office,  boys?"  Four  or  five  of  us  boys,  accepting 
the  implied  invitation,  got  into  the  carriage,  but  when  we 
alighted  at  our  destination,  Tute  coolly  asked  us  to  pay 
25  cents  apiece,  the  regular  rate.  We  demurred  and  said 
that  we  had  been  asked  to  ride.  "I  didn't  ask  you,"  said 
Tute,  "and  this  fellow  here*  who  did  ask  you  isn't  running 
this  hack,  so  you'll  have  to  fork  over."  It  was  perfectly 
evident  that  it  was  a  swindling  job  put  up  by  the  two,  but 
we  paid ;  that  is,  we  paid  by  proxy,  for  Al  Whit,  was  the 
only  fellow  in  the  party  that  had  any  money,  and  he  settled 
the  bill  for  the  crowd.  So  Al  was  in  a  position  to  fully 
appreciate  the  little  game. 

The  writer's  chum  the  first  year  was  Bill  H ,  one 

of  the  best-hearted  and  jolliest-natured  fellows  that  ever 

R  289 


TAI.KS    OF    BOWDOIN 

lived.  We  used  to  call  him  "Mystery,"  as  he  seemed  to 
have  "up  his  sleeve"  such  a  great  variety  of  information  on 
subjects  that  the  general  college  public  was  not  thoroughly 
conversant  with.  Bill  could  give  a  more  significant  nod 
than  any  man  the  world  has  known,  and  his  wink  conveyed 
volumes  and  volumes  of  suggestion.  We  all  felt  that  if 
Bill  would  tell  all  he  knew  about  things,  the  world's  store 
of  thought  and  information  would  be  greatly  enriched. 

If  there  was  one  thing  that  Bill  loved  it  was  a  practical 
joke,  and  he  could  think  up  m.ore  kinds  of  jokes  and  more 
opportunities  for  perpetrating  them  than  any  man  in  col- 
lege.    One  day  he  planned  one  on  the  occupants  of  the 

room  overhead — McQ and  S .     We  had  to  let  Mac 

into  the  secret.  One  evening  Bill  got  into  their  room  and 
tied  a  rope  to  the  leg  of  the  bed  nearest  the  wall  and  win- 
dow. He  passed  this  rope  back  of  the  commode  and  out 
of  the  window,  the  other  end  being  carried  into  our  room. 

In  the  late  hours  of  the  night,  when  S was  asleep  and 

snoring,  we  gave  a  strong,  steady  pull  on  the  end  of  the 
rope.  There  was  an  overturning  of  furniture  and  a  crashing 
of  crockery,  and  a  bed  was  heard  to  roll  across  the  floor. 
There  ensued  a  period  of  distress  and  confusion  upstairs, 

pretended  on  the  part  of  Mac,  but  real  on  the  part  of  S . 

It  was  some  time  before  S discovered  the  cause  of  the 

agitation  of  the  furniture,  and  we  could  hear  him  grunt 
with,  surprise  when  he  finally  came  across  the  rope. 

One  of  Bill's  possessions  which  he  brought  from  home 
was  a  large  red  pincushion,  plumply  stuffed  on  top.  One 
would  think  to  look  at  it  that  it  was  a  light  and  airy  affair 
that  would  almost  sail  into  space  of  its  own  volition,  but 
in  reality  it  was  a  very  substantial  article,  for  its  founda- 
tion was  a  hard-burned  brick,  and  about  the  heaviest  brick 

290 


RANDOM    RKCOLIvECTlONS   OF    1 87 1 -75 

ever  made.     It  would  weigh  something,  but  not  much,  less 

than  a  ton.     One  day  Frank  U and  other  boys  were 

passing  ball  and  loafing  on  the  campus.  Looking  up  and 
seeing  Bill  leaning  out  of  our  window,  Frank  said,  "Throw 
down  something  for  us  to  catch,"  "Catch  this !"  said  Bill, 
tossing  out  the  red  pincushion.  It  sailed  through  the  air 
down  three  stories  in  a  most  etherial  manner.  Frank  held 
up  his  hands  in  a  lightsome  way  to  catch  the  feathery 
object,  but  when  it  struck  his  hands  his  look  of  lazy  interest 
changed  into  one  of  startled  surprise,  for  the  cushion 
banged  through  his  hands  and  half-buried  itself  in  the  turf. 
It  was  a  long  time  before  Frank  could  recover  from  a  sense 
of  the  narrowness  of  his  escape. 

One  day  in  the  fall  a  trip  to  Goose  Island  was  taken  by 
some  ai  us  boys,  sailing  from  Maquoit  in  a  leaky  and 
weatherbeaten  old  craft  which  met  a  squall  soon  after  start- 
ing. Under  the  expert  care  of  Mont  Aldous,  a  student  in 
the  scientific  department,  we  reached  our  destination  safely. 
Such  expeditions  usually  go  equipped  with  everything 
except  water,  and  ours  was  no  exception  to  the  rule.  A 
hunt  over  the  island  in  the  gathering  darkness  failed  to 
reveal  a  spring,  and  so  at  a  late  hour  our  thirst  compelled 
us  to  row  across  the  bay  to  Harpswell  in  the  small  and 
leaky  boat's-tender,  five  or  six  of  us,  and  there  we  went  up 
to  a  farm  well  and  drank  delicious  draughts  of  water, 
enough  to  last  us  during  the  remainder  of  our  visit  in  that 
locality.  It  was  late  and  we  concluded  not  to  row  back 
that  night,  the  water  being  very  rough,  and  so  we  all  laid 
down  under  the  lee  of  a  stone  wall  on  the  wet  grass  and 
slept  sweetly,  as  tired  youth  knows  how  to  sleep,  in  the 
cool  air  of  the  October  night.  Strange  to  relate !  there  was 
never  a  cold  or  a  sneeze  that  resulted  from  this  experience. 

291 


taivE:s  of  bowdoin 

In  the  neighboring  town  of  Topsham  there  was  a  tax- 
collector  who  was  a  more  amiable  and  ag^reeable  man  than 
tax-collectors  in  general  are  supposed  to  be.  No  student 
had  any  opportunity  to  have  a  grievance  ag-ainst  him,  but 
grievances  are  not  necessary  in  order  to  stimulate  the  youth- 
ful mind  to  acts  of  deviltry.  One  day  this  tax-collector  was 
quietly  walking  by  on  the  sidewalk  of  the  Harpswell  road 
when  an  insinuating  voice  from  somewhere  in  Winthrop 
Hall  said  most  pleasantly :   "Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  step 

over  here,  Mr.  P ?     I  want  to  talk  with  you."     And 

Mr.  P came  over,  like  the  accommodating  man  he 

was,  to  hear  whatever  the  person  of  honeyed  words  had  to 
say.  On  arriving  at  the  hall  entrance,  however,  his  ears 
were  assailed  with  most  outrageously  abusive  language,  to 
his  great  surprise  and  indignation.  He  started  to  come  in 
and  discover  the  perpetrator  of  the  outrage,  but  his  dis- 
cretion prevailed  and  he  nursed  his  wrath  and  went  away 
in  a  towermg  rage. 

Many  other  incidents  come  back  to  the  writer  in  mem- 
ory— the  handcar  expedition  after  turkeys;  the  purloining 
of  a  yellow  flag  that  was  placed  in  front  of  a  house  down- 
town to  indicate  smallpox;  the  visits  and  lectures  of  the 
late  Daniel  Pratt,  always  a  source  di  interest  to  the  stu- 
dents; the  beautiful  playing  of  a  strolling  violinist  who 
made  regular  trips  to  Brunswick,  and  whose  little  finger 
of  the  right  hand  was  always  encased  in  a  soiled  rag,  though 
he  did  not  play  in  "rag-time."  The  writer  recalls,  too,  the 
pleasant  experiences  in  the  class-room;  the  games  and 
sports  on  the  Delta  when  baseball  and  football  were  not 
played  as  they  are  today.  The  delightful  strolls  into  the 
surrounding  country  come  back  to  him,  and  he  lives  over 
again  the  hours  of  social  enjoyment,  the  communing  of 

202 


RANDOM  re;coi.][.e;ctions  of  1871-75 

souls  in  boyish  confidences,  the  building^  of  air-castles,  and 
the  dreaming  of  bright  visions  of  the  future.  But  these 
recollections,  delightful  as  they  are  to  the  writer,  can  offer 
in  their  recounting  but  little  of  interest  save  to  those  who 
were  a  part  of  them  in  the  student  life  of  a  quarter-century 
ago. 


JOHN  FERRIS,  GRADUATE 

Edgar  O.  Achorn,  '8i 


JOHN  rERRIS,  GPSDUSTE 

JOHN  Ferris  stood  alone  in  front  of  Memorial  Hall, 
wrapped  in  meditation.  It  was  near  the  close  of  one 
of  June's  fairest  days.  The  Class  Day  exercises  were  over ; 
the  graduating  class  had  smoked  the  pipe  of  peace,  cheered 
the  halls,  and  disbanded;  but  knots  of  people  were  still 
loitering  about  as  if  reluctant  to  leave  a  spot  of  such  match- 
less beauty. 

In  a  vague  way  John  Ferris  was  conscious  of  the  perfect 
symmetry  of  the  Art  Building  and  Chapel  as  they  came 
within  the  range  of  his  vision.  He  heard,  but  faintly,  the 
voices  around  him,  the  joyous  laughter,  and  the  words  of 
the  familiar  song  wafted  from  the  windows  of  Maine  Hall : 

'•We'll  hail  from  the  walls  of  old  Bowdoln, 
Those  walls  so  jolly  with  fame." 

It  was  twenty  years  since  his  class  had  celebrated  its 
Commencement  and  bid  farewell  to  college  life,  and  now 
those  twenty  years  rose  in  a  vision  before  him. 

"O  ye  familiar  scenes,— ye  groves  of  pine 
That  once  were  mine  and  are  no  longer  mine,— 
Ye  halls,  in  whose  seclusion  and  repose 
Phantoms  of  fame  like  exhalations  rose 
And  vanished," 

he  quoted  half  aloud.  Twenty  years!  He  was  no  longer 
young;  his  youth — his  bright  youth — had  g:one  forever. 
Phantoms  of  fame!  Where  were  the  ambitions  of  those 
early  days  now?    Thwarted,  abandoned,  dead.     Some  he 

297 


TALES    OF    BOWDOIN 

had  buried  years  before;  the  long  grass  and  weeds  had 
grown  over  their  mounds,  and  their  epitaphs  were  dim  and 
indistinct.  But  others  there  were — his  greater  ambitions — 
marked  by  fresh  mounds  and  freshly  cut  headstones.  These 
had  died  hard,  and  when  at  times,  as  now,  a  flood  of  memo- 
ries came  back  to  him,  their  recollection  gave  him  the 
keenest  pain. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts."  John  Ferris  roused  him- 
self, turned,  and  recognized  his  old  friend.  Grace  Pennell, 
approaching,  with  her  hand  extended  in  greeting.  "We 
have  been  watching  you  for  the  last  five  minutes.  Come, 
explain  yourself;  why  this  melancholy  in  the  midst  of  so 
much  festivity?  Let  me  present  you  to  Miss  Overton  of 
Knoxville — she  is  with  me  for  Commencement."  While 
Mrs.  Pennell  was  speaking,  John  turned  from  shaking  hands 
with  her  to  acknowledge  the  introduction  to  Miss  Overton. 
He  was  met  by  a  pair  of  serious  brown  eyes  that  looked 
squarely  into  his  own.  The  uplifted  face  was  beautiful  in 
outline,  denoting  at  once  intellectuality,  pride,  and  tender- 
ness. The  rippling  brown  hair,  the  well  poised  head,  the 
graceful  figure,  all  appealed  and  with  irresistible  force  to 
his  sense  of  the  beautiful  in  woman.  To  Tohn  Ferris  it 
was  a  new  sensation;  in  all  these  years  of  struggle  and 
endeavor  since  his  college  days  it  had  never  seemed  to  him 
that  there  was  any  place  for  woman.  He  had  never  given 
her  much  thought,  and  so  far  as  he  had  it  was  to  regard 
her  as  a  fellow  pilgrim, — one  quite  apart  from  his  own 
plans  and  purposes.  And  now,  as  he  looked  into  this 
woman's  face,  he  felt  an  indefinable  sensation  of  pleasure, 
of  anticipation,  of  confidence,  and  of  mutual  sympathy.  "I 
must  confess  that  you  surprised  me  when  I  was  feeling  just 
a  trifle  disconsolate,  but  your  coming  has  quite  driven  it 
away,"  he  said,  at  length  replying  to  Mrs.  Pennell,  but 

298 


JOHN    ^I^RRIS,    GRADUATE 

with  his  eyes  still  fastened  upon  her  friend.  "But  how 
can  you  be  sad  in  such  an  enchanted  spot  ?"  exclaimed  Miss 
Overton.  "Why,  Fm  in  love  with  old  Bowdoin — to  me, 
a  Southerner,  this  campus  is  ideal." 

"That  is  rather  a  difficult  question  to  answer,  Miss  Over- 
ton, in  a  word.  I  am  a  loyal  son  of  Bowdoin — none  more 
so — and  I  am  alive  to  the  festivity  of  the  occasion, — the 
beauty  of  the  surroundings, — I  too  appreciate  it ;  but  under- 
lying all  to  me,  when  I  stop  to  reflect,  there  is  a  very  sad 
side  to  this  coming  back  to  Commencement.  Nowhere  else 
does  one  stand  so  face  to  face  with  his  past  life,  with  his 
failures ;  nowhere  are  comparisons  so  odious ;  nowhere  does 
It  come  home  to  one  with  equal  force  that  his  life  is  slipping 
away  and  that  he  has  accomplished  nothing.  With  you  in 
the  South,  everything  dates  from  the  war — with  us,  from 
our  college  days.  It  is  twenty  years  since  I  graduated, 
and  I  have  nothing  to  show  for  it.  It  mav  seem  strange 
to  you,  but  I  had  just  reached  the  determination  not  to 
return  here  again  for  another  twenty  years."  He  spoke 
earnestly  and  with  a  tinge  of  bitterness. 

"Ah,  but  you  enjoy  meeting  the  men  of  your  time, 
John, — I  should  say,  of  our  time—"  said  Mrs.  Pennell,  "or 
else  you  are  very  much  changed  since  I  knew  you  as  a 
student,  for  we  of  the  town  used  to  hear  startling  rumors 
of  your  genial  habits." 

"Yes,  to  be  sure  I  shall  dearly  love  to  meet  the  old  crowd 
again,  and  after  a  few  sips  of  the  historic  punch  I  presume 
I  shall  be  quite  like  my  old  self ;  but  thus  far  I  haven't  hap- 
pened to  meet  one  of  my  class.  It  is  a  little  early  in  the 
week ;  doubtless  they  will  be  here  in  force  to-morrow." 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Pennell,  excusing  herself,  responded 
to  a  call  from  a  carriage  near,  and  the  two  were  left  alone. 
"Do  you  think  that  all  college  men  feel  as  you  do,  Mr. 

299 


TALES    OP'    BOWDOIN 

Ferris,  about  coming  back?"  asked  Miss  Overton.  "The 
majority  do  not,  I  fancy.  Such  as  do  would  be  found  among 
the  number  of  those  who,  Hke  myself,  have  won  no  great 
victories  in  the  world's  arena.  Those  who  have  written  their 
names  high  on  the  scroll  of  fame,  doubtless  return  with  a 
sense  of  exhilaration  and  triumph,  bringing  their  shields. 
They  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  their  success 
gives  an  added  lustre  to  the  fame  of  Bowdoin.  Do  you  see 
Ihe  four  men  sitting  together  under  the  Thorndike  Oak? 
They  are  Chief  Justice  Fuller,  Tom  Reed,  General  Howard 
and  Senator  Frye.  These  are  the  men  who  must  return 
with  satisfaction  to  themselves;  but  we  poor  unfortunates 
who  are  given  over  to  the  petty  drudgery  of  life,  who  have 
failed  in  the  running  and  know  it, — what  do  you  think  our 
sensations  are  when  we  come  up  to  this  judgment  seat?" 

"Ah,  but,  Mr.  Ferris,  surely  you  do  not  regard  those 
lives  alone  as  successful  that  have  had  to  do  with  great 
affairs — that  have  brought  public  distinction.  It  is  enough, 
is  it  not,  that  each  one  act  well  his  part,  there,  as  Pope  has 
well  said,  all  the  honor  lies." 

"It  is  a  very  pretty  theory.  Miss  Overton,  and  man  is  so 
constituted  that  no  matter  what  cards  he  may  draw  in  the 
game  of  life,  he  almost  never  throws  down  his  hand;  he 
plays  it  out,  even  if  he  doesn't  take  a  trick ;  but  I  contend 
that  a  commonplace  existence  is  'one  demd  horrid  grind.'  " 

"I  do  not  agree  with  you.  Greater  heroism  is  required 
to  live  faithful  to  the  small  things  of  life  than  to  the  great, 
or,  to  use  your  own  simile,  to  play  a  poor  hand  well  than  one 
full  of  trumps,  and  I  for  one  most  admire  the  man  endowed 
with  qualities  that  make  it  possible  for  him  to  live  happily 
in  modest  circumstances — the  man  who  dignifies  the  every- 
day affairs  of  life.  We  are  not  responsible  for  being  here, 
and  if  we  do  our  best  in  our  respective  places  we  should 

300 


JOHN    FERRIS,    GRADUATE 

have  no  regrets.  We  cannot  all  be  great — let  us  at  least 
try  to  be  happy,  which  is  of  more  importance.  Isn't  that 
after  all  the  true  philosophy?" 

Miss  Overton  spoke  with  earnestness  and  with  a  measure 
of  sympathy  in  her  voice  and  manner  which  moved  John 
Ferris  deeply.  He  was  unhappy,  forlorn,  dissatisfied  with 
himself,  and  her  words  comforted  him.  He  was  eager  to 
continue  the  conversation,  but  his  next  word  was  cut  short 
by  Mrs.  Pennell,  who,  returning,  apologized  for  the  neces- 
sity of  their  speedy  departure. 

''But  surely,  Grace,  I  shall  see  Miss  Overton  again,"  said 
Ferris,  loth  to  have  her  leave  him.  "I  should  esteem  it  a 
great  privilege  to  be  able  to  contribute  something  to  the 
pleasure  of  her  visit  to  Brunswick." 

"We  are  at  home  to  our  friends  at  almost  all  hours  Com- 
mencement week,  as  you  know,"  replied  Mrs.  Pennell,  "and 
I  gladly  accept  you  as  an  ally  in  making  Miss  Overton's 
stay  with  me  a  success." 

Standing  in  the  same  spot,  John  Ferris  watched  Nancy 
Overton  as  long  as  she  was  in  sight,  and  then  he  fell  into 
a  brown  study  again.  How  womanly  and  sincere  she 
seemed — what  an  atmosphere  of  gladness  surrounded  her — 
what  depths  of  feeling  stirred  in  her  brown  eyes.  She  had 
given  life  a  new  meaning.  It  made  him  ashamed  of  his 
own  mood.  He  must  see  more  of  her — he  must  do  some- 
thing to  redeem  himself. 

And  he  did,  for  that  evening  as  they  sat  on  Mrs.  Pen- 
neirs  veranda,  under  the  inspiration  of  Miss  Overton's 
presence  he  recounted  tales  and  incidents  of  his  college  days 
with  such  inimitable  wit  and  pathos  that  the  whole  com- 
pany was  alternately  moved  from  laughter  to  tears. 

The  following  day  he  took  her  on  that  beautiful  drive 
across  the  Brunswick  plains  to  the  sea — and  Nancy  Over- 

301 


TALES    01'    BOVVDOIN 

ton  with  a  woman's  intuition  came  to  realize  that  the 
man  at  her  side,  although  bruised  and  hurt  by  some  of  the 
bitter  experiences  and  disappointments  of  life,  still  had  that 
fine  sense  of  honor,  that  keen  sense  of  iustice,  and  that 
love  of  the  good,  the  true  and  the  beautiful  which  charac- 
terize a  thoroughbred  gentleman. 

It  was  the  night  of  the  President's  reception.  John 
Ferris,  dressed  with  more  than  ordinary  care  and  with  a 
boyish  eagerness  quite  foreign  to  him,  betook  himself  to 
Memorial  Hall.  While  he  stopped  to  exchange  a  word  of 
greeting  with  those  he  knew  in  the  throng  that  soon  filled 
the  place,  his  eyes  constantly  sought  the  entrance;  he  grew 
more  and  more  impatient  as  the  evening  wore  away  and 
Mrs.  Pennell  and  her  friend  failed  to  make  their  appear- 
ance. When  all  hope  was  at  an  end,  he  left  the  hall  with 
a  keen  sense  of  disappointment.  Lighting  a  cigar,  he 
strolled  across  the  cam.pus,  down  the  Longfellow  path,  and 
seated  himself  under  the  spreading  pines.  The  full  moon 
sailed  in  a  cloudless  sky,  bathing  each  blade  and  leaf  in  a 
flood  of  silvery  light.  The  pine  boughs  over  head  moved 
by  the  evening  breeze  mingled  their  music  with  the  myriad 
voices  of  the  night. 

The  mysterious  spell  of  the  place  and  hour  gradually  stole 
over  him, — old  things  passed  away,  and  John  Ferris  came 
into  his  birthright  at  last,  for  the  "whispering  pines  of  old 
Bowdoin"  sang  unto  his  very  soul  in  passion's  tenderest 
cadence  the  priceless  heritage  of  a  pure  and  unselfish  love. 

At  his  room  a  telegram  awaited  him,  demanding  his 
immediate  return  to  Boston,  and  boarding  the  "Flying 
Yankee"  he  was  gone. 

During  the  next  month  John  Ferris  sought  to  apply  him- 
self with  his  usual  diligence  to  the  multifarious  duties  of 
his  law  practice,  but  with  indifferent  success.     An  ungov- 

302 


JOHN  fe:rris,  graduate: 

ernable  restlessness  seized  him,  and  in  the  midst  of  his 
work  his  mind  repeatedly  wandered  back  to  the  Bowdoin 
campus  and  the  woman  he  had  met  there.  He  found  him- 
self reviewing  every  detail  of  her  appearance,  recalling 
every  varying  phase  of  her  expressive  face.  He  longed  to 
see  her  again,  to  hear  her  voice,  to  feel  the  influence  of  her 
presence.  Unable  to  settle  down  to  business,  he  packed 
his  bag  and  took  passage  for  Europe,  reflecting  that  a  rest 
and  a  change  might  restore  his  equilibrium. 

On  August  30th,  John  Ferris  registered  at  the  Beau 
Rivage,  Geneva.  He  had  come  down  from  Ober-Ammer- 
gau  and  was  journeying  by  easy  stages  toward  Paris.  It 
was  his  birthday.  An  intense  feeling  of  loneliness  came 
over  him  as  he  sat  at  dinner  on  the  balconv  of  the  hotel 
and  watched  the  changing  hues  of  the  sunset  play  upon  the 
snowy  summit  of  Mt.  Blanc.  His  outing-  had  in  no  wise 
effaced  Nancy  Overton  from  his  thoughts.  In  fancy  she 
filled  the  vacant  chair  opposite  and  he  realized  that  his 
happiness  would  be  complete  were  she  there  to  share  the 
beauty  of  the  scene  with  him,  when  a  voice  that  thrilled 
every  fibre  of  his  being  said,  "How  beautiful."  He  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  faced  about.  Nancy  Overton  in  company 
with  Mrs.  Pennell  was  just  seating  herself  at  the  adjoining 
table.  Their  eyes  met,  and  in  her  answering  glance  John 
Ferris  read  a  glad  response  to  all  the  overmastering  emotion 
that  found  expression  in  his  face  and  manner. 

When  Mrs.  Permell  left  them  together  two  hours  later, 
she  said,  "Now  I  v/ill  give  you  two  an  opportuntiy  to  finish 
the  conversation  I  interrupted  last  June  on  the  Bowdoin 
campus."  They  finished  it,  and  John  Ferris  convinced 
Nancy  Overton  that  if  he  might  work  for  love  of  her 
nothing  in  life  would  ever  seem  to  him  commonplace  again. 

303 


DIOGENES 

Henry  L.  Chapman,  '66 


DIOGENES 

NOT  the  philosopher  of  the  tub  !  Far  from  it,  indeed ! 
It  is  possible  that  some  quibbling  persons  might 
question  whether  the  Diogenes  of  whom  I  write  could  fairly 
be  called,  a  philosopher  at  all.  There  is,  however,  a  con- 
venient vagueness  about  the  term  which  admits  of  its  being 
applied  to  him  in  common  with  a  varied  and  picturesque 
procession  of  personages  from  Plato  down  to  Mr.  Dooley. 
It  is  certain,  moreover,  that  he  had  a  touch  of  the  cynic 
in  his  disposition ;  and  there  was  a  quaintness  in  his  man- 
ner, coupled  with  a  mystery  touching;^his  birth  and  previous 
condition,  which  might  be  regarded  as  incidental  but  happy 
additions  to  his  outfit  as  a  philosopher.  So  much  will  have 
to  be  granted.  But  it  is  impossible  to  locate  him  in  a  tub. 
He  would  doubtless  have  been  a  more  engaging  figure  if 
that  could  have  been  done,  at  least  occasionally.  But  he 
had  to  be  taken  as  he  was,  just  as  we  all  have  to  be  taken 
as  we  are.  And,  so  taken,  he  is,  in  some  respects,  pleasanter 
as  a  reminiscence  than  he  was  as  a  contemporary. 

It  was  in  August,  1840,  that  this  new  visitant  swam  into 
the  ken  of  Bowdoin  students.  The  heated  term  was  draw- 
ing near  the  end — and  the  Commencement,  also.  The 
breathing-space  of  four  weeks,  during  which,  in  the  good 
old  times,  the  Seniors  were  excused  from  other  duties  in 
order  that  they  might  put  their  varied  learning  into  intelli- 
gible shape  for  the  Commencement  platform,  was  passing, 
slowly  and  languorously.     Ezra  Abbott,  the  critical  linguist, 

307 


tai,e:s  of  bowdoin 

and  Elijah  Kellogg,  the  wit  and  genius,  with  "full  nyne  and 
twenty"  classmates — a  number  which  will  always  retain  the 
distinction  which  Chaucer  gave  it  when  he  thus  summed 
up  the  company  of  pilgrims  at  the  Tabard  Inn — these  were 
the  dignified  Seniors  who,  doubtless,  like  Chaucer's  Ser- 
geant of  Law,  seemed  busier  than  they  were.  There  was 
no  question  of  "seeming,"  however,  with  Juniors  and 
Sophomores  and  Freshmen;  they  had  still  "to  grunt  and 
sweat  under  a  weary  life,"  since  the  recitations  in  Greek, 
Latin  and  Mathematics  rolled  on  as  pitilessly  as  the  burn- 
ing August  sun. 

Upon  the  scholastic  scene,  thus  modestly  set  m  the  Bow- 
doin campus,  entered  a  small,  shrewd,  smoothly-shaven  and 
sedate  stranger,  who  was  destined  to  remain  upon  the  scene, 
an  interesting  and  unique  figure,  for  more  than  a  quarter 
of  a  century.  He  came  unheralded,  but  not  unattended. 
A  colored  man  was  his  companion,  who,  by  virtue  of  his 
hue  and  his  evident  dependence,  might  have  passed  for  his 
shadow  if  the  two  had  not  soon  parted  company. 

The  ostensible  errand  of  the  new  arrival  was  to  exhibit 
some  petty  mechanical  contrivance  or  puppet-show,  and  to 
pick  up  some  small  coins  by  way  of  return  for  the  enter- 
tainment offered.  He  had  reason,  or,  at  least,  courage,  to 
hope  that  the  young  men  of  the  college  were  so  far  imbued 
with  the  Baconian  spirit  that  they  did  not  seek  in  knowledge 
merely  "a  terrace  for  a  wandering  and  variable  mind  to 
walk  up  and  down  with  a  fair  prospect,"  but  "a  rich  store- 
house for  the  relief  of  man's  estate."  How  far  his  hopes 
were  realized,  and  his  own  estate  relieved,  cannot  now  be 
affirmed ;  nor  does  it  matter.  More  important  issues  hung 
upon  his  casual  introduction  to  the  college.  Either  some 
delicate  perception  of  the  students'  needs,  (as  he  saw  them 
gathered  about  his  trifling  show),  or  some  open  promise  of 

308 


DIOGENJ^S 

patronage  on  their  part — or  perhaps  both — moved  him  to 
abandon  his  strolling  and  precarious  life,  and  shortly  to 
establish  himself  in  a  small  shop  on  Maine  Street,  on  which 
a  rudely-printed  sign  announced  that  clothes  were  promptly 
mended  and  cleansed  within. 

His  years  of  wandering  over,  here,  at  length,  he  was 
installed  in  a  domicile  of  his  own,  and  busied,  like  another 
Teufelsdrockh,  with  the  Philosophy  of  Clothes.  His 
patrons  were  chiefly,  but  not  exclusively,  from  the  college, 
and  so  assiduous  was  he  in  the  mending  and  cleansing  of 
their  garments  that  he  became  unwisely  forgetful  of  his 
own. 

It  was  not  long  before  his  philosophical  meditations  and 
his  mending  and  cleansing  processes  were  interrupted,  when 
a  right  of  way  through  the  village  was  demanded  by  the 
Portland  and  Kennebec  Railroad,  and  the  spot  upon  which 
his  little  shop  stood  had  to  be  vacated.  But  it  was  not 
much  more  of  a  structure  to  move  than  a  tub  would  have 
been;  and,  with  all  his  belongings  in  it  undisturbed,  it  was 
hauled  to  a  more  secluded  spot  chosen  bv  himself,  and 
continued  to  be  his  residence  and  workshop  so  long  as  he 
needed  either.  As  the  only  window  to  his  house  was  a  sky- 
light he  had  an  equally  good  outlook  wherever  the  house 
chanced  to  be  located,  and  an  outlook,  it  may  be  added, 
peculiarly  congenial  to  the  mind  of  a  philosopher. 

He  was  already  on  the  shady  sign  of  middle  life,  with 
a  considerable  knowledge  of  books  and  a  strong  liking  for 
them,  a  half-cynical  fondness  for  human  society,  an  undis- 
guised appetite  for  stimulants,  and  a  gfeneral  personal 
atmosphere  which  did  not  promise  much  for  the  clothes 
which  he  professed  to  cleanse.  Gradually  he  allowed  him- 
self to  be  drawn  from  his  seclusion  to  perform  various 
menial  duties  about  the  college  buildings,  partly  for  the 

309 


TAI,ES    OF    BOWDOIN 

students,  and  partly  for  the  Corporation.  For  twenty-five 
years,  at  least,  he  was  familiar  to  the  Bowdoin  campus,  and 
must  be  a  tolerably  distinct  figure  in  the  memories  of  the 
students  of  those  years.  A  short,  grave,  sturdy  little  man — 
in  rusty  ill-fitting  clothes,  wearing  always  a  silk  hat,  which, 
like  himself,  more  than  hinted  of  decay  and  decrepitude — he 
was  to  be  seen  at  almost  any  hour  going  in  and  out  of  the 
college  halls,  or  studying  the  newspapers  in  the  reading- 
room  through  a  magnifying-glass  set  in  a  rude  unpainted 
frame,  square  and  substantial.  But  he  was  to  be  seen  at 
his  weirdest  and  best  in  the  dim  twilight  before  the  dawn, 
going  from  hall  to  hall  with  a  burning  candle,  or,  if  it  was 
windy,  with  a  lantern — which  perhaps  gave  him  his  name 
of  Diogenes — ^to  light  the  fires  in  the  rooms  of  a  few 
Sybaritic  students,  and  in  the  recitation  rooms,  which  must 
be  warm  for  the  early  recitation  before  breakfast. 

For  this  latter  service  he  was  employed  by  the  college 
authorities,  and  hence  arose  the  necessity  for  an  annual 
house-cleaning,  so  to  speak,  of  his  person.  Once  in  the 
year,  with  considerable  pains  and  awkwardness  doubtless, 
but  with  conscientious  regularity,  he  went  through  the 
ordeal  of  a  toilet,  and  adorned  himself  with  such  niceties  of 
dress  as  he  could  command,  and  brought  forth  a  less  dilapi- 
dated hat  than  he  was  wont  to  wear — and.  thus  arrayed,  he 
proce::^ded  with  unaffected  dignity  to  call  upon  President 
Woods,  to  receive  from  him  an  order  upon  the  college  treas- 
urer for  his  modest  stipend.  Any  student  that  chanced  to 
meet  him  on  one  of  those  annual  official  errands  deemed 
himself  fortunate,  as  indeed  he  was.  He  would  get  scant 
recognition,  to  be  sure,  and  very  likely  none  at  all,  from 
the  tittle  philosopher — who  regarded  the  students  as  belong- 
ing wholly  to  his  work-a-day  world — but  he  would  see  the 
shuffling  menial  transformed,  for  the  moment,  into  a  self- 

310 


DIOGSNES 

respecting  gentleman  who  had  relations  with  the  President 
of  the  college ;  and  the  picture  was  one  that  would  not  fade 
from  the  memory.  It  might  be  that  his  pathway  to  the 
President's  house  was  illumined  by  the  recollection  of  more 
prosperous  days  in  his  earlier  life,  and,  therefore,  until  his 
errand  was  done,  he  chose  not  to  notice  the  young  fellows 
of  the  college,  who  were  associated  altogether  with  the  ser- 
vile condition  into  which  he  had  fallen. 

There  is  reason  to  believe  that  he  was  a  native  of  the 
Island  of  Guernsey,  and  that  he  passed  some  years  in 
France,  where  he  learned  the  trade  of  a  glove-maker. 
From  France  he  wandered  to  Nova  Scotia,  and  from  Nova 
Scotia  to  the  United  States,  and  to  Brunswick.  There  is 
little  doubt  that  he  was  brought  up  in  the  Catholic  faith, 
and  among  the  students  it  was  a  favorite  hypothesis,  which 
came  to  be  accepted  by  them  as  fact,  that  he  had  been 
educated,  or  partially  educated,  for  the  priesthood.  Subse- 
quently, however,  he  became  an  Episcopalian,  and,  though 
he  rarely  attended  upon  the  services  of  the  church,  he 
remained  to  the  end  a  stout  intellectual  adherent  of  St.  Paul. 
That  his  life  might  not  be  lacking  in  the  element  of  romance 
it  was  believed  that  in  his  youth  he  was  "jilted"  in  favor  of 
his  brother.  It  was  not,  in  itself,  an  unreasonable  con- 
jecture, and,  perhaps,  the  only  thing  needed  to  make  it 
entirely  credible,  was  some  knowledge  of  his  brother.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  the  story  would  help  to  account  for  the  fact 
that  he  was,  after  a  mild  fashion,  a  misogynist,  and  that  he 
drank  to  excess. 

Whether  these  items  of  personal  history  that  I  have  men- 
tioned are  true  or  not,  they  did  not  come  to  us  from  his 
own  lips.  He  was,  in  a  marked  degree,  reticent  and  uncom- 
municative. Proof  against  persuasion,  and  incapable  of 
surprise,  he  never  satisfied  our  curiosity  with  any  confidences 

311 


TALKS    01^    BOWDOIN 

concerning  his  earlier  life.  Though  we  met  him  not  once  but 
daily,  he  yet  seemed  to  us  to  be  wrapped  in  a  mystery  not 
unlike  that  of  Melchizedek,  King  of  Salem.  The  more 
sensitive  of  the  students,  I  think,  respected  his  reticence, 
but  not  all ;  and  it  was  surely  line  to  see  the  silent  contempt 
with  which  he  repelled  the  boisterous,  and  sometimes  vulgar, 
familiarities  to  which  he  was  now  and  then  exposed.  But 
he  had  his  favorites  and  his  failings,  and  unfortunately,  as 
is  sometimes  the  case  with  better  men  than  he,  it  was  to  his 
favorites  that  he  was  apt  to  display  his  failings.  To  them 
he  would  so  far  unbend  as  to  quote  scraps  of  unalluring 
verse,  often  with  emendations  of  his  own,  and  repeat  a  few 
haggard  and  time-worn  jokes,  and  sit  overlong  by  their 
open  fires.  His  sense  of  humor  was  of  a  pinched  and 
primitive  order,  and  it  sometimes  found  vent  in  utterances 
that  were  not  altogether  fit  for  refined  ears,  though  this  was 
not  of  frequent  occurrence.  His  laugh  was  an  odd  vibra- 
tion of  mirth,  suggesting  a  sort  of  compromise  between  a 
chuckle  and  a  hiss,  and  it  struggled  forth  as  best  it  could 
from  between  his  tongue  and  his  upper  teeth,  which  seemed 
to  come  together  in  order  to  help  or  to  hinder  the  demon- 
stration, and  one  could  hardly  tell  which.  As  a  laugh, 
therefore,  it  was  interesting,  but  not  infectious. 

The  picture  of  him  rises  before  me  now.  as  he  used  to 
sit  at  times  before  my  own  wide  Franklin  stove,  in  which, 
through  one  luxurious  winter,  I  employed  him  to  light  the 
morning  fires.  His  poor,  frayed,  threadbare  coat  is  but- 
toned close  to  his  chin ;  his  trousers  conceal  a  part  of  their 
poverty,  being  tucked  into  capacious  rubber  boots ;  and  his 
unspeakable  hat  is  pulled  down  upon  his  ears, — for,  like  the 
English  House  of  Commons,  it  was  his  custom  to  sit  with  his 
hat  on.  The  expression  of  his  face  is  shrewd  and  not 
unpleasing;  his  talk  has  in  it  a  distinct  touch  of  the  gentle- 

312 


DIOGENES 

man,  and  he  passes  from  speech  to  silence  (and,  perhaps, 
even  to  sleep),  as  naturally  and  gently  as  a  child.  He  has 
a  word  or  two,  very  likely,  of  college  gossip ;  he  says  some- 
thing of  religion,  buttressing  his  remarks,  probably,  with 
a  saying  of  St.  Paul's;  he  speaks  for  a  few  moments  of 
books ;  and  after  a  short  silence  a  sort  of  twinkle  comes  into 
his  eyes,  and  he  recites,  with  an  unmistakable  relish,  two 
stanzas  from  Southey's  '"Devil's  Walk" : 

"From  his  brimstone  bed  at  break  of  day, 

A-walking  the  Devil  is  gone, 
To  look  at  his  snug  little  farm  of  the  world, 
And  see  how  his  stock  went  on. 

••How  then  was  the  Devil  dressed? 
Oh !  he  was  in  his  Sunday's  best : 
His  coat  was  red,  and  his  breeches  were  blue. 
And  there  was  a  hole  where  the  tail  came  through." 

Something  in  this  poetic  portrait  has  a  persistent  charm 
for  him,  and  it  is  a  favorite  quotation;  and  now,  having 
repeated  it  to  me,  he  gives  one  of  his  little  dubious,  Jesuit- 
ical laughs,  and  gets  up  and  shambles  out. 

He  was  a  diligent  reader,  with  some  claims — making 
due  allowance  for  the  narrow  limits  of  his  leisure — ^to  the 
title  of  bookworm.  In  the  dingy  and  cheerless  hovel  which 
served  as  his  domicile — and  which  may  still  be  seen  in  the 
rear  of  the  Brunswick  House  on  Maine  Street — he  had 
gathered  a  library  of  several  hundred  volumes,  packed  away 
in  boxes  which  occupied  the  center  of  the  floor,  directly 
under  the  skylight,  which,  as  I  have  said,  alone  furnished 
light  to  the  apartment  when  the  door  was  shut.  Incon- 
venient as  were  his  library  accommodations,  so  familiar  was 
he  with  his  treasures  that  he  was  rarely  at  a  moment's  loss 
to  know  in  which  of  the  half-score  of  boxes  any  particular 
volume  was  to  be  found.  He  was  reported  to  make  addi- 
tions to  his  library  through  a  system  of  "forced  benevo- 

3^3 


tale:s  of  bowdoin 

lences/'  of  which  the  successive  Freshman  classes  were  the 
victims.  The  benevolences  were  an  undoubted  fact,  but 
whether  the  money  was  always  expended  for  books  was 
not  so  certain.  In  the  later  years  of  his  life  his  necessities 
forced  him  to  dispose  of  some  of  his  treasured  books,  and, 
more  than  once,  the  present  writer  was  persuaded  to  act  as 
auctioneer  for  the  sale  of  them,  the  auction  bein^  invariably 
held  in  the  open  space  between  the  Chapel  and  Maine  Hall ; 
and  the  sufficient  commission  to  the  auctioneer  was  the  sin- 
cere but  scantily-worded  gratitude  of  the  shabby  philos- 
opher. 

He  was  probably  somewhat  more  than  ninety  years  old 
at  his  death,  which  occurred  on  the  thirtieth  of  April,  1868. 
The  funeral  service  was  conducted  by  President  Harris, 
and  he  was  buried,  in  conformity  with  his  expressed  wish, 
in  the  town  of  Weld,  because  that  was  the  burial  place  of 
the  family  of  his  landlady  who  had  always  been  kind  to 
him,  and  in  whose  house  he  died. 

When,  at  last,  he  had  left  the  solitude  of  his  poor  hut  for 
the  scarcely  deeper  solitude  of  the  grave,  it  was  impossible 
by  inquiry  or  advertisement,  to  find  any  kinsfolk  to  inherit 
his  meagre  belongings;  and,  after  two  or  three  years  of 
fruitless  effort,  his  administrator  transferred  his  books  to 
the  college  library,  where  they  are  still  to  be  found  bearing 
the  label,  "From  the  Library  of  Thomas  A.  Curtis."  The 
law  and  the  library  knew  him  only  as  Thomas  A.  Curtis, 
but  his  contemporaries  among  the  students  remember  him 
more  familiarly  and  kindly  as  "Diogenes." 


THE  RIVAL  FULLBACKS 

Henry  A.  Wing,  '8o 


THE  RIVAL  rULLBACKS 

IT  was  Bowdoin's  last  and  most  important  football  game 
of  the  season.  Whittier  Field  had  never  held  a  crowd 
so  large  or  so  enthusiastic.  The  contest  had  excited  the 
keenest  interest,  and  had  been  heralded  in  the  newspapers 
for  weeks  previous.  And  now  men  and  women,  staid  pro- 
fessors and  undergrads  not  quite  so  staid,  had  gathered  to 
witness  the  struggle  which  should  decide  the  championship 
of  the  State.  The  grandstand  was  a  mass  of  waving  flags 
and  fluttering  ribbons ;  the  sidelines  were  crowded,  and  all 
available  space  about  the  grounds  was  occupied  by  cheering, 
excited  spectators. 

For  thirty  minutes  the  teams  had  been  struggling  in  the 
fiercest  contest  ever  waged  on  a  gridiron  in  Maine.  Bow- 
doin  clearly  had  the  advantage,  yet  was  unsuccessful  in 
making  a  goal.  Three  times  had  the  sturdy  home  team 
worked  the  ball  to  the  twenty-yard  line  of  their  opponents ; 
three  times  had  Hal  Blackford,  who  was  playing  fullback^ 
attempted  place  kicks,  with  the  ball  held  by  the  quarterback, 
and  failed.  Then  fickle  fortune  had  changed,  and  the  ball 
was  sent  into  Bowdoin  territory,  out  of  danger. 

"In  Heaven's  name,  where  is  Phil  Edson  ?"  muttered  the 
captain  to  himself ;  and  in  many  minds  the  same  query  was 
uppermost.  Phil,  the  most  skilful  goal  kicker  in  the  State ; 
Phil,  the  pride  and  safety  of  the  team;  who  had  practiced 
with  them,  won  with  them,  and  sworn  by  them  all  his  col- 
lege years,  the  popular  man  of  the  college,  who  had  been 

317 


tai.e:s  oj?  bowdoin 

depended  upon  to  win  the  game  if  it  should  be  a  close  one, 
by  a  place  kick.  That  morning  he  was  in  the  captain's 
room,  full  of  vigor  and  eager  for  the  fray;  now  no  one 
could  venture  a  guess  as  to  where  he  was.  or  what  had 
occasioned  his  absence.  At  the  last  minute  Hal  Blackford 
had  been  substituted,  and  bewilderment  was  followed  by 
a  vague  uneasiness  when  this  change  was  made  apparent 
to  the  spectators. 

A  fourth  time  Bowdoin  gained  the  twenty-yard  line  of 
the  opposing  team.  The  spectators  were  wild  with  excite- 
ment. The  sharp  "Rah !  rah !  rah  V  of  Bowdoin  was  heard 
high  above  the  slogan  of  the  enemy.  A  minute  was  left 
for  play;  the  signal  was  given  for  another  attempt  to  kick. 
The  long  pass  to  the  quarter  was  not  accurately  made ;  the 
opposing  team  broke  through  the  Bowdoin  line ;  there  was 
a  sharp  mix-up,  and  when  it  was  over  Hal  was  taken  from 
the  bottom  of  the  heap  bruised,  insensible,  and  carried  from 
the  field  seriously  if  not  fatally  injured,  as  the  physician 
after  a  hasty  examination  gravely  pronounced. 

Time  for  the  first  half  was  called  and  the  Bowdoin  players 
clustered  together,  despondent  and  almost  without  hope. 
Coaches  and  captain  consulted  mechanically,  knowing  that 
almost  certain  defeat  would  follow  the  only  course  now  open 
to  them.     Another  substitute  must  be  put  into  the  game. 

The  hopes  of  the  opposing  team  had  correspondingly 
risen.  They  had  two  reliable  men  to  put  into  their  line, 
and  they  were  cognizant  of  Bowdoin's  weakness  with  her 
best  fullback  absent,  her  best  substitute  disabled,  her  cour- 
age severely  strained.  With  the  indomitable  spirit  which 
has  helped  win  many  a  victory  for  Bowdoin  on  field  and 
on  water,  her  eleven  now  awaited  the  call  which  might  mar- 
shal them  to  defeat.  The  sky  had  clouded ;  the  depressing 
chill  of  winter  was  in  the  air,  and  as  the  sun  sank  fast  in 

318 


THE    RIVAI,    FULLBACKS 

the  November  sky,  the  sighing  of  the  winds  through  the 
pines  seemed  to  the  Bowdoin  sympathizers  preliminary 
tunings  of  the  dirge  of  disaster  waiting  the  champions  of 
the  white. 

A  thrill  of  excitement  rising  to  an  hysterical  outburst ;  a 
cry,  swelling  and  bursting  into  a  tremendous  volume  of 
sound,  rocks  the  grandstand,  echoes  through  the  pines,  and 
'•E-D-S-0-N !  Rah  !  Rah !  Rah !"  rises  and  falls  upon  the 
air,  from  hundreds  of  throats,  the  college  team  frantic  with 
glee  leading  the  chorus.  From  somewhere,  no  one  knows 
exactly  where,  a  tall,  athletic  youth  has  sprinted  into  view, 
and  the  regular  fullback  of  the  team,  the  most  skilful  player 
in  the  State,  is  tearing  up  the  path. 

"This  is  no  time  for  explanation,"  was  Phil's  hurried 
word  in  answer  to  the  confused  queries  which  greeted  him. 
"Give  me  a  suit  of  football  clothes,  and  mighty  quick,  too." 
At  the  call  of  the  whistle,  Bowdoin  faced  her  opponents 
with  new  courage. 

Never  before  nor  since  has  there  been  such  an  exhibition 
of  football  upon  Whittier  Field.  At  the  beginning  of  the 
half  the  opposing  team  attempted  one  or  two  trick 
plays,  but  on  these  they  lost  ground.  From  that  time 
on  there  was  straight,  old-fashioned  football.  Bowdoin 
had  advanced  the  ball  from  the  beginning  of  the  half,  but 
it  had  been  lost  on  fumbles  and  kicked  back  to  the  center 
of  the  field.  The  visitors  fought  like  fiends  to  prevent 
Bowdoin  from  getting  the  ball  into  position  to  try  for  a  goal 
from  the  field,  or  a  kick  from  placement. 

Twenty  minutes  had  been  played,  when  the  superior 
muscle,  training  and  grit  of  Bowdoin  began  to  tell.  Slowly 
the  ball  was  worked  toward  the  goal  of  the  enemy.  They 
had  persisted  in  keeping  the  ball  from  the  center  of  the  fidd, 
making  an  attempted  goal  as  difficult  as  it  well  could  be. 

319 


TALES    OF    BOWDOIN 

Three  minutes  were  left  for  play,  and  the  ball  was  held  on 
the  twenty-five  yard  line.  A  desperate  chance  only  could 
accomplish  the  coveted  score,  for  the  teams  were  near  the 
sideline  at  the  left  of  the  field. 

The  signal  was  given;  the  ball  was  accurately  passed  to 
the  quarterback,  who  as  quickly  placed  it  on  the  ground 
and  Phil  sent  the  sphere  whirling  througfh  space.  Its 
progress  was  watched  with  breathless  interest  by  the  specta- 
tors, who  for  the  moment  had  no  further  care  for  the  two 
teams,  though  Bowdoin's  stonewall  line  had  been  broken, 
just  as  the  pigskin  rose  into  the  air.  The  wind  apparently 
carries  the  ball  away  from  the  goalpost ;  it  wavers  a  bit,  and 
the  big  audience  as  one  man  catches  its  breath;  but  on  it 
sails,  swift  and  sure. 

"GOAL!"  shouted  the  official. 

Time  was  up,  and  Bowdoin  had  won,  5  to  o. 

A  mighty  cheer  shatters  the  silence  of  the  preceding 
moment ;  the  paean  of  old  "Phi  Chi"  arises  irregularly  upon 
the  air;  the  undergrads  break  through  the  lines,  and  Phil 
is  hoisted  upon  their  shoulders  and  borne  in  triumph  from 
the  field.  There  is  a  scene  of  rejoicing  which  lasts  many 
minutes,  a  "Bowdoin  war  dance,"  as  one  of  the  defeated 
disgustedly  dubs  it,  and  the  happy  company  troops  from  the 
field  through  the  softly  falling  snow,  "the  white  of  a  Bow- 
doin victory." 


"Kid"  Barker  had  deposited  to  the  best  advantage  his 
225  pounds  of  avoirdupois  on  the  captain's  couch ;  "Giant" 
Gray,  the  featherweight  of  the  college,  had  taken  up  his 
customary  position  before  the  fire;  two  or  three  others  of 
the  captain's  particular  set  were  variously  disposed  about 

320 


THE    RIVAL    FULI.BACKS 

the  room,  which  was  blue  with  smoke  and  cheerful  from 
the  blaze  of  the  open  fire  in  the  little  Franklin  stove,  and  all 
were  rehearsing  the  exciting  events  of  the  afternoon,  when 
Phil  walked  in  on  his  way  to  inquire  for  his  friend  Hal. 

"Speak  up,  and  give  an  account  of  yourself,  old  man," 
greeted  him  before  he  was  fairly  through  the  door. 

''Give  an  account,  and  take  an  account  as  well/'  he  replied. 
"What  the  dickens  is  to  pay  round  this  college,  anyhow? 
About  eleven  o'clock  this  morning  I  went  down  town  to 
mail  a  letter,  and  as  I  was  passing  the  station  a  small  boy 
stepped  up  and  handed  me  a  telegram  signed  by  Mr. 
Forster,  father's  confidential  clerk,  saying  'Come  at  once; 
your  father  is  just  alive.'  The  train  was  just  pulling  out, 
and  I  barely  swung  on  to  the  rear  platform.  I  did  not  see 
a  soul  with  whom  I  could  leave  any  word,  and  I  decided 
to  telegraph  when  I  reached  Portland.  You  can  guess  how 
I  felt  when  the  first  man  who  met  my  eyes  in  that  station 
was  Mr.  Forster.  I  rushed  up  to  him  and  asked  for  Father. 
'Your  father  sick  ?'  he  said.  'I  left  him  in  Boston  last  night, 
never  better  in  his  life,  and  have  just  received  a  dispatch 
from  him  saying  he  was  going  to  New  York  this  afternoon. 
There  must  be  some  mistake.'  I  showed  him  the  telegram 
I  possessed,  and  he  said  at  once  it  was  a  forgery.  It  flashed 
upon  me  in  a  minute  that  some  one  had  put  up  this  job  to 
gel  me  out  of  the  game  for  today.  I  told  Mr.  Forster  of 
my  suspicions,  and  he  was  all  interest  at  once.  Our  first 
thought  was  a  special  engine,  and  as  Forster  knew  the 
general  superintendent  well,  he  made  for  his  office,  to  get 
one  for  love  or  money,  while  I  made  for  the  restaurant, 
knowing  I  should  need  a  good  meal  more  than  anything 
else  just  then. 

"We  hadn't  got  very  far  out  of  the  city  before  I  knew 
what  it  meant  to  skim  along  through  the  air ;  I  never  shall 
T  321 


TALES    O^    BOWDOIN 

envy  an  engineer  his  worlc  after  this ;  I  felt  pretty  easy  in 
my  mind,  and  v;as  settled  back  thinking  things  over  pretty 
hard,  when  smash,  crash;  and  there  we  were  in  Freeport 
yard,  with  a  broken  driving  rod.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  the 
fact  that  we  were  running  slow  on  to  a  siding  for  the 
express  to  pass  us,  I  might  have  been  worse  off,  I  suppose. 
Well,  thought  I,  the  game  is  up  this  time,  anyhow.  And  so 
was  my  fighting  blood. 

"My  eye  fell  upon  a  livery  stable ;  and  I  made  one  more 
try  for  Brunswick.  The  proprietor  heard  my  tale  of  woe. 
'This  little  mare  here,'  said  he,  pointing  to  a  dandy  bay  in 
her  box  stall,  'can  take  you  to  Brunswick  easy  in  little  over 
an  hour.  Take  her  if  you  want  her.'  So  off  I  started  once 
more.  I  got  into  Brunswick  at  just  half-past  three;  left 
the  mare  at  the  stable,  took  a  fresh  horse  for  the  grounds, 
and  raced  for  Whittier  Field,  and  you  know  the  rest.  Now, 
there  is  my  part  of  the  story,  w^hat  can  vou%offer  to  help 
finish  it  out?"  concluded  Phil. 

The  boys  glanced  furtively  at  one  another,  as  though 
afraid  to  offer  an  opinion. 

"Beats  me,"  breathed  Kid. 

"Mighty  lucky  Hal  Blackford  was  in  fighting  trim,"  haz- 
arded Giant. 

"Never  saw  a  chap  so  tickled  as  he  was  when  we  notified 
him  to  take  Phil's  place,"  commented  the  captain,  address- 
ing no  one  in  particular.  "Said  he  had  been  suffering  for 
a  chance  on  the  team  for  weeks,  in  this  particular  game," 
added  he,  as  no  one  replied  to  his  first  assertion. 

"None  of  that,"  sharply  spoke  up  Phil,  "I'd  as  soon  sus- 
pect my  own  brother  of  double  play  as  to  suspect  Hal !" 
and  he  left  the  room  much  disturbed  by  the  implied  doubt, 
the  more  so  because  for  a  moment,  and  only  for  a  moment, 
Phil  had  had  the  same  thought  come  to  him.     Hal  had 

322 


THU    RIVAL    FUI,I.BACKS 

envied  him  his  position,  he  knew,  and  eagerly  longed  to  be 
one  of  the  contestants  in  this,  the  last  game  they  should 
play  as  undergraduates  of  their  beloved  college.  As  he 
slowly  walked  along  to  the  room  where  his  friend  lay  fight- 
ing a  harder  battle  than  that  of  the  afternoon,  with  much 
more  at  stake,  his  mind  traversed  their  intimacy,  of  the  past 
four  years,  and  the  peculiar  circumstances  which  had  linked 
them  together,  in  spite  of  much  which  might  have  destroyed 
a  less  firm  friendship  than  theirs. 

Fate  had  seemingly  decreed  that  he  and  Hal  should  be 
rivals  in  every  important  thing  through  their  college  course, 
from  the  time  of  election  of  chairman  at  the  first  class  meet- 
ing down  to  the  Fall  term  of  this,  their  Senior  year,  when 
the  rivalry  for  position  of  fullback  on  the  team  had  been 
the  keenest,  and  he  had  won  only  through  superior  pro- 
ficiency in  punting.  Although  obliged  to  admit  that  his 
chums  had  some  grounds  upon  which  to  base  the  suspicions 
they  had  hinted  at,  he  could  not  believe  that  Hal,  who  had 
been  the  soul  of  honor,  could  by  a  miserable  trick  gain  for 
himself  the  glory  of  playing  in  this  game.  Banishing,  this 
from  his  mind  as  impossible  and  absurd,  he  stopped  at  the 
door  of  the  room  where  Hal  lay  unconscious,  to  be  met  by 
Hal's  sister  Marguerite,  of  whom  he  had  often  heard,  but 
never  met.  As  he  saw  her  sad  and  anxious  face,  he  thought 
her  the  prettiest  girl  he  had  ever  seen,  and  as  she  claimed 
him  as  Hal's  best  friend  and  told  him  mournfully  of  the 
possible  result  of  her  brother's  injuries,  his  suspicion  dis- 
appeared forever,  and  only  sympathy  and  grief  responded 
to  her  wordless  appeal  for  comfort.  All  that  night  he 
watched  by  the  bedside  of  the  injured  man,  and  was 
rewarded  in  the  morning  by  seeing  the  closed  lids  slowly 
open,  and  catching  the  first  faint  words :  "Did  we  do  them 
up,  Phil?" 

323 


TALKS    OF    BOWDOIN 

"Yes,  and  you  nearly  got  done  up  yourself,  old  chap; 
don't  try  to  talk,  but  sleep,"  was  Phil's  hearty  response,  and 
Hal  dropped  off  again  as  though  relieved  of  his  last  and 
only  care.  The  crisis  was  passed  at  this  time,  apparently, 
and  news  of  one  victory  seemed  harbinger  of  the  other,  so 
much  desired;  the  victory  of  a  sound  constitution  over 
almost  certain  death. 

A  day  or  two  later,  Phil  was  astounded  upon  making  his 
call  upon  his  friend,  to  be  met  by  Rita,  with  hands  out- 
stretched, crying  piteously.  "Oh,  don't  tell  me  that  you 
believe  this  wicked  story  which  is  circulating  about,  that 
Hal  sent  you  a  bogus  telegram  keeping  you  out  of  the  game. 
You  and  he  have  been  rivals;  I  know  the  whole  story.  I 
know,  too,  that  after  you  won  the  $300  mathematical  prize, 
and  he  would  not  accept  the  money  you  so  generously 
offered  him,  that  it  was  through  your  influence  he  was 
given  that  fine  position  that  Summer  which  helped  him  so 
much  towards  working  his  way  through  college.  I  know 
your  bravery  in  defending  him  from  the  crowd  of  town 
boys  who  laid  in  wait  for  him  one  night,  and  how  you 
thrashed  their  leader,  and  were  hurt  yourself  in  the  struggle. 
For  that  and  your  other  kindnesses,  Hal  loves  you,  and  if 
he  hears  this  story,  it  will  break  his  heart." 

What  could  Phil  say?  Simply  that  the  whole  thing  was 
a  piece  of  scandal,  an  outrage,  and  several  other  equally 
decisive  denials,  and  get  away  as  soon  as  possible  to  "punch 
the  fellow  that  tattled,"  as  he  wrathfully  vowed  to  himself. 


The  game  had  been  played  on  Saturday,  and  since  Sun- 
day, Kid,  Giant  and  the  captain  had  not  been  seen  about 

324 


THIv    RIVAI,    FUIvIvBACKS 

the  campus.     It  was  supposed  they  had  cut  college  to  cele- 
brate over  the  g-ame. 

Wednesday  night,  Giant  sent  word  to  Phil  to  meet  him 
quietly  in  the  captain's  room.  He  found  there  with  him, 
Kid  and  the  captain. 

"Well,"  said  Kid,  ''1  have  been  playing  the  Old  Sleuth 
act,  and  with  the  timely  aid  of  these  brave,  lads,  have  found 
out  who  sent  you  your  bogus  telegram. 

''After  you  left  us,  Saturday  night,  we  held  a  little  con- 
sultation, and  then  I  went  down  town  after  my  mail.  On 
the  way  I  met  Tom  Britton,  the  tough  you  will  remember 
who  led  the  yaggers  the  night  they  so  nearly  did  up  Hal 
Blackford.  As  I  passed  him,  he  looked  up  out  of  the  side 
of  his  eye  and  said  to  me,  'You  played  a  great  game,  today, 
Barker.' 

"  'We  did,'  I  said  coolly,  'but  your  little  trick  didn't  work 
to  keep  Edson  out  of  it,  did  it?'  He  drew  back  at  me, 
muttering  that  he  knew  nothing  about  Edson,  nor  any  trick, 
but  I  smiled  and  went  on  about  my  business. 

"You  see,  we  had  reasoned  it  out  about  this  way.  Brit- 
ton is  a  coward,  and  a  bully,  but  he  is  no  fool.  He  has 
known  as  the  town  boys  do  know,  all  about  the  plans  for 
this  game,  and  how  we  depended  on  a  goal  from  the  field 
or  a  place  kick  to  win  the  game  if  it  came  close.  Also,  that 
Phil  had  practiced  that  particular  play,  for  this  game,  which 
would  be  his  last,  and  that  he  would  almost  give  his  right 
hand  before  he  would  lose  a  chance  to  play  in  it.  He 
thought  by  gettmg  Phil  away  he  would  not  only  revenge 
himself  for  the  licking  Phil  gave  him  on  one  memorable 
occasion,  but  would  cause  the  possible  defeat  of  the  team, 
and  the  downfall  of  our  hopes,  two  things  which  would  of 
all  others  suit  him. 

325 


TALKS    OF    BOWDOIN 

"So,"  said  Kid,  in  a  burlesque  dramatic  way,  "we  selected 
these  former  knights  of  Phi  Chi  whom  you  see  before  you, 
and  planned  the  campaign.  It  was  to  be  brief  and  decisive. 
Tom  lives  down  on  the  Plains,  and  last  nigfht  as  he  was 
returning  from  town  about  half  jagged,  a  bag  was  sud- 
denly thrown  over  his  head.  I  am  happy  to  state  that  I 
gave  him  a  solar  plexus  on  my  own  account  which  rendered 
him  superior  to  mundane  events  for  a  considerable  time. 

"I  guess  you  fellows  can  imagine  where  Tom  found  him- 
self when  he  awoke,"  continued  Kid  with  a  chuckle.  "He 
was  in  the  cave  by  the  sounding  sea.  He  was  confronted 
by  the  most  ghostlike  crowd  he  ever  saw,  and  charged  with 
his  crimes.  To  his  credit,  though  badly  scared,  he  denied 
the  thing  in  toto.  Without  further  ado,  we  took  the  tackle, 
and  after  blindfolding  him,  began  to  lower  him  into  the 
Devil's  Hole.  I  happen  to  know  that  that  hole  is  fifteen 
feet  deep,  for  I  helped  to  measure  it,  but  I  guess  Tom 
thought  it  was  about  fifteen  hundred.  He  begged  to  be  let 
out ;  but  we  were  in  for  it,  and  when  he  was  safe  at  the  bot- 
tom we  pulled  off  the  bandage  from  his  eyes,  and  set  the 
electrical  serpents  to  running.  Gee,  wasn't  he  frightened ! 
After  a  while  he  was  pulled  out,  and  he  told  the  whole  story. 

*'^He  had  stolen  a  telegraph  blank,  fixed  up  the  message 
and  started  a  small  boy  for  the  college  with  it.  We  not 
only  made  him  confess,  but  compelled  him  to  sign  a  written 
confession,  and  then  left  him  tied  to  a  tree  down  below 
Merry  meeting,  and  he  may  be  there  yet." 

A  mass  meeting  was  called  in  Memorial  and  the  whole 
assemblage  was  told  the  story  by  Phil,  who  eulogized  Black- 
ford and  praised  his  playing,  declaring  that  his  work  in  the 
first  half  had  really  as  much  to  do  with  winning  the  game 
as  had  his  own  lucky  kick  in  the  second  half.  Of  course, 
then  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  for  college  boys  to  do 

326 


THE    RIVAL    I^UIvI^RACKS 

was  to  form  a  procession  and  march  over  to  the  hall  where 
Hal  was  lying,  and  he  was  cheered  again  and  ag"ain.  While 
he  knew  nothing  of  the  suspicions  launched  against  him, 
the  fact  that  he  was  thus  remembered  was  more  than  medi- 
cine to  the  injured  man,  and  each  cheer  was  a  liberal  dose 
of  a  reviving  tonic. 

As  Phil  and  Hal  were  walking  across  the  campus,  the 
night  after  the  Dance  on  the  Green  which  closed  the  Class 
Day  exercises,  Phil  stopped  abruptly  in  the  shadow  of  a  big 
tree,  and  gazing  across  the  enchanted  grounds  now  bathed 
in  moonlight  and  beautiful  to  his  fond  eye  as  no  other  spot 
on  earth  can  hope  to  be,  remarked  in  a  self-conscious  man- 
ner, "Your  sister  told  me  tonight,  Hal,  that  she  thought 
Edson  such  a  pleasant  name  she  might  possibly  adopt  it, 
about  Christmas  time." 

The  two  men  clasped  hands  and  Hal  said  with  tender- 
ness in  his  voice,  "Dear  old  Bowdoin  never  graduated  a 
happier  lad  than  this  news  makes  me." 


BOWDOIN'S  FIRST 

GREAT  BOAT-RACE 


D.  A.  Robinson,  '73 


BOWDOIN^S    riRST   GREAT    BOAT-RACE 


IT  was  at  the  close  of  one  of  the  Bowdoin  banquets,  and  a 
number  of  the  younger  graduates  had  remained  to  smoke 
awhile  longer,  sing  a  few  more  songs,  and  tell  again  the 
stories  of  their  college  days.  With  them  had  remained  one 
of  the  older  men,  one,  though  gray  and  wrinkled,  yet  who 
liked  to  be  "with  the  boys,"  and  tried  on  such  occasions  to 
forget  the  half  a  century  that  had  passed  since  he  was 
young,  and  to  seem,  to  himself  at  least,  to  be  a  boy  again 
among  the  rest.  They  had  just  finished  singing  old  "Phi 
Chi"  for  the  "steenth"  time,  when  one  of  the  boys  suddenly 
turned  to  the  Old  Grad  and  said,  "It's  up  to  you,  old  man ; 
you  must  sing  us  a  song  or  tell  a  story  now." 

He  was  pleased  at  the  attention  shown  him,  for  it  some- 
how seemed  to  make  him  more  nearly  one  of  their  number, 
but  he  modestly  said  that  he  could  not  sing  as  they  very  well 
knew,  having  heard  him  try  several  times;  and  as  for  a 
story,  it  was  much  more  interesting  to  him  to  listen  to  their 
songs  and  hear  their  fun,  than  anything  he  could  say  would 
be  to  them.  But  they  were  so  persistent  and  apparently 
sincere  in  their  desire  to  hear  from  him  that  he  finally  con- 
sented; and  when  the  cigars  had  been  relighted  and  the 
chairs  tilted  back  to  the  usual  angle,  he  began  as  follows : 

"The  first  time  I  walked  in  through  the  posts  beyond  the 
Church  on  the  Hill  and  looked  upon  the  Bowdoin  campus, 
way  back  in  the  sixties,  there  was  a  far  different  view  from 
what  you  see  there  to-day.     Old  Massachusetts  Hall  had 

331 


TALES    OF    BOWDOIN 

not  been  remodelled  and  its  upper  story  made  into  a  museum 
as  it  is  now,  but  it  had  the  same  antique  and  dilapidated 
appearance  as  when  its  walls  resounded  to  the  voice  of 
Parker  Cleveland.  The  foundation  of  Memorial  Hall  had 
Just  been  finished,  and  the  granite  for  its  walls  was  piled  all 
about  that  part  of  the  campus.  There  was  no  Searles 
Science  Building,  no  Walker  Art  Building,  no  Gymnasium, 
no  Observatory.  The  North  end  of  Winthrop  was  closed 
for  repairs.  The  only  entrance  to  it,  as  I  soon  found,  was 
over  the  'Tarpeian  Rock,'  a  hole  dug  through  the  middle 
wall  from  the  closet  of  the  inside  back  room  in  the  upper 
story.  Through  this  hole,  in  the  dead  hours  of  the  night, 
Sophomores  were  wont  to  haul  such  Freshmen  as  did  not 
keep  fully  up  to  the  standard  of  college  ethics  as  made  and 
provided  for  their  guidance,  and  bring  them  to  trial  in  the 
courts  of  Sodom,  as  the  North  end  was  called,  to  distinguish 
it  from  Gomorrah,  which  was  the  scriptural  name  of  the 
South  end.  To  have  *  Sodom'  written  in  chalk  upon  his 
door,  or  hear  the  words  in  sepulchral  tones,  'Sodom, 
to-night,'  was  the  direst  threat  a  Freshman  could  be  sub- 
jected to  in  those  days.  As  I  was  saying,  when  I  first  came 
upon  the  campus  I  was  wholly  unacquainted  with  college 
ways  and  customs,  and  knew  only  two  or  three  of  the  stu- 
dents. I  found  a  kind-hearted  Junior  who  lived  'up  my 
way,'  who  allowed  me  to  sleep  in  his  room,  until  I  could 
take  my  examinations  and  procure  a  room  of  my^  own. 

"By  Saturday  night  I  had  collected  a  few  pieces  of  second 
hand  furniture,  sold  to  me  at  'greatly  reduced  rates'  (!)  by 
upper-classmen,  and  about  ten,  I  went  to  bed  eager  for  Mon- 
day to  come  when  I  could  begin  college  work  in  earnest. 
I  had  been  asleep  about  an  hour,  and  was  dreaming  of  the 
great  things  I  was  going  to  accomplish  while  in  college, 
when  my  dreams  were  suddenly  brought  to  an  untimely  end 

332 


BOWDOIN  S    FIRST    GREAT    BOAT-RACE 

by  a  great  noise,  in  my  room  and  all  about  me.  When  I 
opened  my  eyes  I  saw  that  the  room  was  packed  full  of 
students,  every  one  of  whom  had  on  a  mask  and  was  blow- 
ing a  tin  horn  most  vigorously ;  and  one,  with  a  black  nose 
about  half  a  yard  long,  was  holding  it  close  to  my  face 
and  saying  in  most  peremptory  tones:  'Freshie,  get  up! 
Freshie,  get  up!'  I  at  once  obeyed,  and  was  politely 
handed  my  pants,  and  as  I  balanced  myself  on  one  leg  to 
begin  dressing,  I  was  unceremoniously  toppled  over  upon 
the  bed  in  a  heap,  amid  a  great  tooting  of  horns  and  shouts 
of  laughter.  I  was  then  hustled  out  into  the  other  room, 
and  placed  upon  the  top  of  the  stove;  a  big  flat  'air-tight' 
that  was  sold  to  me  at  a  bargain  by  a  Sophomore,  who  told 
me  in  confidence,  it  was  'the  very  one  old  Prof.  Cleaveland 
used  to  have  in  his  room!'  I  found  afterwards  there  were 
several  such  about  college. 

"By  the  time  I  was  fairly  standing  upon  the  stove  and  the 
horn  orchestra  was  getting  in  its  work  in  good  style  about 
my  ears,  I  thought  the  thing  had  gone  far  enough,  and, 
having  had  a  good  deal  of  rough-and-tumble  experience  in 
the  six  years  I  had  worked  in  a  crew  in  a  saw-mill,  I  made 
a  leap  into  the  crowd  and  was  ready  for  a  fight.  But  fight- 
ing was  not  on  the  program,  and  I  was  grabbed  by  as 
many  as  could  get  hold  of  me  and  put  back  upon  my  perch 
on  the  stove.  Finding  that  everything  was  being  done  in 
a  good-natured  way,  I  subsided  at  once,  and  did  whatever 
I  was  told  to  do.  This  spoiled  the  fun  and  they  soon  left 
me  for  other  classmates. 

"This  experience  seemed  to  me  so  different,  somehow, 
from  what  I  had  pictured  college  life  to  be,  that  I  was  at  a 
loss  to  understand  it  for  some  time.  There  were  other 
things  that  surprised  me  as  well.  When  I  came  upon  the 
campus  one  of  the  first  things  to  catch  my  eye  was  a  long, 

333 


TAI,ES    0?    BOWDOIN 

slim  boat,  turned  over  upon  some  wooden  horses  under 
the  trees  in  front  of  Winthrop  Hall.  I  was  told  that  it  was 
a  race-boat,  called  a  single  shell,  belonging  to  one  of  the 
students.  I  wondered  how  anyone  could  spend  the  precious 
time  while  at  college  in  such  a  wasteful  manner  as  rowing 
in  boat  races.  A  little  farther  along  I  saw  a  larger  boat, 
which  proved  to  be  a  four-oared  race-boat,  called  the  'For- 
get-me-not,' — some  of  the  older  graduates  will  remember 
that  famous  boat  and  it  wonderful  crews — but  I  mentally 
vowed  that  no  temptations  would  induce  me  to  so  far  forget 
what  I  came  to  college  for,  as  to  take  part  in  any  such 
frivolous  sports.  But  alas  for  my  good  intentions,  I  soon 
became  better  acquainted  with  shells  and  college  rowing 
than  I  could  ever  have  dreamed  possible  in  my  early  Fresh- 
man days. 

''The  next  year  our  class  bought  a  four-oared  shell  and 
formed  a  class  crew.  The  State  regatta  was  to  be  held  that 
Fall  at  Bath,  and  the  college  entered  a  crew.  But  the 
college  crew  had  such  hard  luck,  the  bow  oar  having  to 
give  up  on  account  of  boils,  and  the  stroke  on  account  of  an 
attack  of  whooping  cough,  that  it  was  finally  decided  to  send 
our  class  crew  to  represent  the  college  in  that  race,  and  I 
was  given  a  seat  in  the  boat.  It  was  only  two  weeks  before 
the  race  and  though  I  had  had  plenty  of  experience  rowing 
batteaux  and  running  rafts  on  the  river  at  home,  I  had 
never  been  in  a  racing  shell  with  outriggers,  nor  used  a 
spoon  oar.  But  I  soon  found  that  I  could  keep  my  balance 
and  row  quite  a  stroke,  though  the  oars  seemed  merely 
playthings  to  the  big  ones  I  had  been  accustomed  to  using. 
On  the  day  of  the  race  nearly  the  whole  college  'went 
fluking  on  the  railway  down  to  Bath,'  as  the  old  song  says, 
to  see  the  regatta.  There  were  four  other  crews  beside 
ours,  the  Longshoremen  of  Portland,  afterwards  a  famous 

334 


BOWDOIN'S    I^IRST    GRIvAT    BOAT-RAC]^ 

crew,  the  Emeralds  of  Portland,  with  Pat  and  Mike  Davis 
for  stroke  and  bow,  the  Ariels  of  Portland  and  the  Gleams 
of  Bath.  The  water  was  pretty  rough  down  at  the  start 
and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  we  could  get  into  our  boat 
from  the  tug  and  get  started. 

"We  were  nearly  out  to  the  starting  line  when  a  big  wave 
struck  my  oar,  and  I  caught  a  crab  with  such  force  as  to 
break  my  oar  off  at  the  'button/  We  went  back  to  the  tug 
and  found  that  our  spare  oars  had  been  left  in  the  boat- 
house  three  miles  away!  The  Longshoremen  refused  to 
wait  for  us  to  get  another  oar  and  to  our  great  chagrin  and 
the  keen  disappointment  of  the  whole  college  the  race  was 
started  without  the  Bowdoin  crew ! 

This  was  not  a  very  promising  beginning  for  boating  at 
Bowdoin,  but  it  was  the  beginning  of  her  racing  against 
outside  crews.  That  same  year  the  intercollegiate  rowing 
association  was  formed  and  the  first  race  rowed  at  Spring- 
field, Mass.  Only  two  crews  entered.  Harvard  and  the 
Amherst  'Aggies.'  To  the  surpise  of  all,  excepting  those 
who  knew  how  crews  were  then  picked  out  at  Harvard, 
the  'Aggies'  won.  At  the  next  meeting  Bowdoin  sent  rep- 
resentatives to  the  association  and  entered  a  crew  for  the 
race. 

"To  be  represented  in  such  an  association  and  to  have 
the  prospect  of  a  crew  in  the  race,  gave  a  great  stimulus 
to  aquatics  at  Bowdoin,  and  the  whole  attention  of  the 
students  was  devoted  to  that  branch  of  athletics.  Volun- 
teers were  called  for  to  begin  training  for  the  'Varsity'  crew, 
and  everyone  began  reading  about  the  Harvard  and  Yale 
and  Oxford  and  Cambridge  races,  and  rowing  talk  was 
uppermost  in  all  the  college  clubs.  The  race  was  to  be  in 
six-oared  shells  withoitt  a  cockswain,  three  miles  straight 
away.    About  a  dozen  men  began  training  in  the  old  'Com- 

335 


tale:s  of  bowdoin 

mons  Hall,'  then  the  g}'mnasium,  now  I  believe  the  car- 
penter's shop. 

"I  did  not  expect  to  be  a  member  of  the  crew,  for  there 
were  so  many  others  who  seemed  better  fitted  for  it  than  I 
was,  but  as  I  liked  the  exercise,  having  been  used  to  hard 
work  in  the  mill  at  home,  I  kept  up  practice  with  the  crew 
all  winter.  George  Price,  the  bow-oar  of  the  famous  Taris 
Crew' — so  called  because  it  had  won  the  races  at  the  Paris 
Exposition  in  1867, — was  engaged  to  train  the  crew,  when 
the  ice  should  go  out  of  the  river,  and  it  could  begin  work 
on  the  water.  A  new  shell  was  ordered  from  Elliott,  the 
famous  boatbuilder  of  Greenpoint,  N.  Y.  For  practicing, 
until  the  crew  could  sit  in  a  shell,  an  old  six-oared  lap- 
streak  was  hired  from  Portland.  At  length  the  ice  went 
out  and  the  trainer  put  in  an  appearance  to  pick  out  the 
crew,  and  teach  them  the  racing  stroke.  You  may  imagine 
my  surprise  when  it  was  announced  that  I  was  to  be  given 
a  seat  in  the  crew !  We  found  it  no  easy  task  to  go  down 
to  the  river  before  breakfast  every  morning  and  again  after 
supper  and  pull  that  heavy  lapstreak  over  the  two-mile 
course,  half  of  the  way  against  a  strong  tide,  with  the 
trainer  in  the  stern,  keenly  watching  every  motion,  and 
urging  us  to  do  a  little  more  all  the  time.  Our  hands  were 
soon  blistered  and  every  muscle  in  our  bodies  lame  and  sore, 
not  to  mention  other  discomforts  caused  bv  sliding  on  the 
seats  to  get  a  little  longer  stroke.  But  our  hands  soon 
became  toughened,  our  muscles  hardened  to  the  work,  our 
wounds  healed,  and  we  'trained  off  our  second  wind,'  so 
that  the  work  became  easier  each  day.  Our  new  shell  came 
at  last  and  to  our  great  disgust  we  found  that  an  old  lady, 
in  examining  it  while  coming  down  upon  the  boat,  had 
punched  a  hole  through  the  bottom  of  it  with  the  end  of 
her  umbrella!     This  meant  two  more  weeks  in  the  heavy 

336 


1^ 


BOWDOIN  S    FIRST    CRKAT    BOAT-RACE 

lapstreak.  Finally  we  got  our  new  shell  and  our  new  spoon 
oars  from  Ross  of  New  Brunswick,  the  famous  oarmaker 
of  the  Paris  Crew,  and  then  we  began  to  find  out  what  we 
could  do.  The  result  of  our  'time  rows'  was  very  encour- 
aging for  a  good  place  in  the  race.  During  Commencement 
week  of  that  year,  in  order  that  the  crew  might  not  be  dis- 
turbed by  the  festivities  of  such  occasions,  we  were  taken 
to  a  boarding  house  down  at  'Humphreys  Mill,'  where  the 
Casino  of  Merrymeeting  Park  now  stands.  Two  weeks 
before  the  time  appointed  for  the  race,  which  was  the  sec- 
ond week  in  July,  we  went  to  Springfield. 

"We  found  that  quarters  had  been  engaged  for  us  at 
Mr.  Harrison  Loomis',  in  West  Springfield,  two  or  three 
miles  above  the  starting  point  of  the  course.  After  our 
arrival  at  Springfield  the  real  interest  and  excitement  began. 
All  the  other  college  crews  had  arrived  before  we  came 
and  were  practicing  every  day  upon  the  river.  We  took 
great  interest  in  watching  the  other  crews  row,  noting  the 
kind  of  stroke  each  used,  and  reading  the  newspaper  com- 
ments about  them.  As  we  were  so  far  away  from  the 
course,  and  rowed  up  river  instead  of  down  while  practicing, 
the  other  crews  did  not  get  an  opportunity  to  see  us  row 
until  a  day  or  two  before  the  race,  when  we  went  over  the 
course  'on  time.'  As  we  went  by  the  training  quarters  of 
the  other  crews  we  could  see  groups  of  students  and  their 
friends  rush  down  to  their  landings  and  level  their  glasses 
upon  us,  and  we  knew  that  we  were  for  the  first  time  being 
'sized  up'  by  all  our  college  rivals.  The  next  day  the  most 
important  headline  in  the  Springfield  papers  was,  'Bow- 
doin  Goes  Over  the  Course  for  the  First  Time' !  Then  fol- 
lowed columns  of  comments  upon  our  crew,  our  stroke,  our 
speed,  and  speculations  about  our  probable  position  at  the 
finish.  All  of  this  was  of  course  intensely  interesting  to 
u  337 


.    TAI,ES    01^    BOWDOIN 

US,  but  the  paragraph  that  pleased  our  trainer  the  most  was 
the  one  that  contained  the  comments  of  John  Bighn.  He 
was  a  famous  oarsman  in  those  days  and  was  there  looking 
after  one  of  the  college  crews.  As  we  went  by  he  was 
standing  on  the  shore,  with  a  reporter  of  one  of  the  Spring- 
field papers  and  a  group  of  college  men  about  him.  'There 
goes  a  crew  on  time,*  said  the  reporter.  'Who  are  they?' 
Biglin  looked  at  the  crew  a  moment,  and  then  recognizing 
the  familiar  swing  of  the  old  Taris  Crew'  stroke,  he  said, 
'That  must  be  the  crew  that  George  Price  is  training.' 
'Then  it  is  the  Bowdoin  crew,'  said  the  reporter.  'What  a 
queer  stroke,'  said  a  Yale  man  who  was  in  the  group.  'Isn't 
that  what  they  call  rowing  in  a  circle'  ?  Biglin,  whose  eyes 
had  not  been  taken  from  the  crew  since  it  came  in  sight, 
turned  to  the  students  about  him  and  said,  'Well,  boys,  you 
may  call  that  stroke  rowing  in  a  circle,  or  what  you  like,  but 
if  they  can  make  their  boat  go  like  that  over  the  whole 
course  on  the  day  of  the  race,  that's  the  winning  crew.'  We 
were  naturally  much  elated  at  such  praise  from  a  profes- 
sional oarsman,  and  the  betting  fraternity  evidently  took 
the  tip  from  this  remark  and  from  that  time  to  the  day  of 
the  race  the  Bowdoin  crew  was  the  favorite  against  'the 
field.' 

"For  several  days  before  the  race  I  had  noticed  that  when 
we  came  to  the  last  half  mile  in  our  practicing,  especially 
if  we  had  an  unusually  hard  spin,  the  boat  would  have  such 
a  'list  to  port'  that  I  could  not  feather  my  oar  clear  of  the 
water.  I  spoke  of  this  several  times  to  our  trainer,  who 
did  not  appear  to  take  any  notice  of  it ;  but  the  night  before 
the  race  he  went  with  me  out  to  the  boathouse  and  taking 
out  his  pocket-knife  he  cut  the  'gunnel'  of  the  boat,  where 
the  handle  of  my  oar  came  over  it,  clear  down  to  the  short 
ribs.    'There/  he  said,  'I  think  that  that  will  help  you.'  Then 

338 


BOWDOIN'S    first    GRi:AT    BOAT-RACK 

he  told  me  in  confidence  that  one  of  the  men  had  'gone  a 
little  stale/  and  when  hard  pressed  at  the  end  of  the  course 
would  'ease  up'  on  his  stroke,  which  would  throw  the  boat 
over  to  the  other  side.  'But  I  think  you  will  be  far  enough 
in  the  lead  when  this  happens/  he  said,  'that  no  one  will 
get  by  you  before  he  catches  on  again.' 

"The  morning  of  the  long  expected  day,  at  length  dawned 
upon  us.  We  had  retired  somewhat  earlier  than  usual  the 
evening  before,  but  could  not  go  to  sleep  quite  as  readily, 
for  visions  of  the  morrow's  events  would  keep  crowding  in 
upon  our  minds,  no  matter  how  hard  we  would  try  to  keep 
them  out.  As  the  race  was  not  called  until  afternoon,  we 
lounged  around  during  the  forenoon,  trying  to  appear  as 
indifferent  and  calm  as  possible.  We  put  the  finishing 
polish  upon  the  boat,  roughened  the  handles  of  our  oars, 
tightened  our  foot-straps,  and  did  many  little  things  of  this 
kind,  in  order  to  have  everything  in  perfect  readiness  for 
the  race  but  more  especially  to  keep  from  thinking  too  much 
about  it.  After  a  light  lunch  we  launched  our  boat  and 
paddled  down  to  the  starting  point.  All  along  the  way  we 
could  see  the  roads  on  either  side  of  the  river  filled  with 
crowds  of  people,  hurrying  to  get  places  where  they  could 
see  the  race.  There  was  an  observation  train  on  one  side 
of  the  river  near  the  starting  point  loaded  with  an  excited 
throng  of  students  from  the  various  colleges  and  their  lady 
friends.  Along  the  other  bank  stretched  a  fine  carriage 
road  which  was  lined  with  all  kinds  of  vehicles,  from  a  hay- 
rack to  a  tally-ho,  each  carrying  its  load  of  eager  sight- 
seers. And  every  jutting  point  of  land  along  the  course 
was  crowded  with  groups  of  college  men  ready  to  cheer 
their  respective  crews  to  victory. 

"We  didn't  see  many  white  flags  displayed,  for  Bowdoin 
was  too  far  'down  East'  for  many  of  her  students  to  attend 

339 


TAt^KS    01^    BOWDOIN 

the  races  there ;  but  old  Mike  Harrigan,  the  captain  of  the 
river  steamer,  saluted  us  as  he  swept  down  the  course,  his 
boat  loaded  down  with  passengers,  and  he  was  proudly 
carrying  the  Bowdoin  flag  at  his  masthead.  We  drew  lots 
for  places  at  the  start  and  found  that  we  came  between 
Harvard  and  Yale.  Beginning  from  the  western  shore  the 
boats  lined  up  as  follows :  Amherst  'Aggies,'  Harvard,  Bow- 
doin, Yale,  Amherst,  and  Brown.  So  we  had  a  good 
position  near  the  middle  of  the  river.  The  tide  was  pretty 
strong  that  day,  and  it  took  a  long  time  to  get  the  boats  into 
line  for  the  start,  for  it  is  no  easy  matter  to  handle  one  of 
those  long  racing  shells  in  a  swift  current. 

"After  a  good  deal  of  floating  down  past  the  buoys  and 
backing  up  again,  the  line  was  formed,  the  starter  dropped 
the  flag  and  shouted  'Go!' 

"A  great  shout  went  up  from  the  crowds  on  either  shore. 
We  dug  our  oars  into  the  water  with  the  short  starting 
stroke  we  had  practiced,  the  next  a  little  longer,  the  third  a 
full  stroke  pulled  with  all  the  strength  that  three  months  of 
hard  and  faithful  training  had  given  us,  and  our  boat  went 
jumping  through  the  water  with  a  speed  to  delight  the  heart 
of  the  most  critical  oarsman.  So  intent  were  we  upon  our 
work  that  we  did  not  notice  for  some  little  time  that  all  the 
other  crews  had  stopped  rowing,  and  the  referee  was  firing 
his  pistol  and  shouting  for  us  to  come  back.  It  seemed  that 
Yale  and  Brown  were  not  ready  for  the  word  and  did  not 
start  at  all,  so  we  had  to  go  back  and  try  agfain.  This  was 
exasperating  to  us,  but  we  came  into  line  again  with 
renewed  courage,  for  we  had  seen  that  we  could  get  away 
as  quickly  as  any  of  them. 

"It  didn't  take  so  long  to  get  into  line  this  time,  for 
everyone  was  ready  and  eager  for  the  race.  At  the  word 
we  were  oflF  again ;  our  oars  went  into  the  water  together, 

340 


BOWDOIN'S    first    GRDAT    BOAT-RAC:e 

came  out  without  bucket  or  hang  at  the  finish,  were 
feathered  flat;  just  skimmed  the  surface  without  touching 
it,  and  went  in  again  in  perfect  time.  The  boat  rode  on  an 
even  keel,  and  we  could  feel  it  jump  ahead  at  every  stroke, 
as  the  six  brown  backs  bent  with  all  their  power  upon  the 
oars.  After  a  few  moments  had  gone  by  I  ventured  to  look 
about  me,  and  to  my  great  satisfaction,  I  could  count  five 
boats  behind  us,  so  we  were  surely  in  the  lead.  We  kept 
up  the  spurt  with  which  we  started  until  the  nearest  boat 
was  several  lengths  behind,  and  then  settled  down  to  our 
regular  racing  stroke.  So  determined  had  we  been  to  get 
the  lead  that,  as  we  learned  afterwards,  we  had  rowed  the 
first  half-mile  in  two  minutes  and  two  seconds  and  had 
passed  the  first  mile  flag  inside  of  five  minutes,  making  a 
record,  both  for  professionals  and  amateurs,  for  a  mile  with 
a  six-oared  boat. 

"When  about  half  way  over  the  course,  the  boat  that  was 
nearest  to  us,  which  I  could  tell  was  Harvard  from  the 
crimson  oarblades  and  sliding  seats,  began  to  slowly  lessen 
the  gap  between  us.  Seeing  this,  a  group  of  Harvard  men 
upon  the  shore  began  to  cheer  most  lustily.  As  the  'Rah ! 
Rah !  Rah !  Harvard !'  was  roared  from  a  hundred  throats, 
we  could  see  the  crimson  oars  flash  more  quickly  to  the 
stroke,  and  then  their  boat  came  dashing  through  the  water, 
lessening  the  space  between  us  every  moment.  When  only 
a  boat  length  separated  us,  we  quickened  our  stroke  to  a 
spurt  and  soon  saw  them  fall  astern. 

"We  had  hardly  dropped  back  to  our  regular  stroke, 
when  looking  farther  out  on  our  port  side  I  could  see 
another  boat,  already  ahead  of  Harvard,  and  coming  very 
fast.  Suddenly  'Amherst !  Amherst !  Amherst !'  came  across 
the  water  from  the  shore  in  shrill  and  frantic  tones,  and 
then  this  other  boat  came  tearing  after  us  like  a  race  horse 

341 


TALES    OF    BOWDOIN 

under  the  whip.  Again  we  quickened  up  our  stroke  and 
soon  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  Amherst  drop  astern  as 
Harvard  had.  We  passed  the  two-mile  flag,  and  had 
entered  upon  the  last  mile  of  the  course,  when  again  the 
snappy  Harvard  cheer  was  heard,  this  time  louder  and 
fiercer  than  before.  The  Harvard  crew  again  responded 
gamely  to  the  call  and  came  on  as  if  bound  to  win  or  die. 
But  we  were  equal  to  the  task  and  gave  them  spurt  for 
spurt  and  kept  the  lead. 

"So  we  went  rushing  down  the  course,  Bowdoin  in  the 
lead,  Harvard  a  few  lengths  behind  on  the  starboard  side, 
Amherst  the  same  distance  to  port,  and  the  others  trailing 
farther  back.  As  we  drew  nearer  to  the  end  the  crowds 
became  greater  and  more  excited.  Our  exertions  had 
begun  to  tell  upon  us,  and  though  the  stroke  was  kept  up 
there  was  not  quite  so  much  driving  power  behind  it,  but 
we  were  still  ahead  and  felt  certain  we  would  win.  The 
cheering  kept  growing  louder  and  more  prolonged,  the 
*Rah!  Rah!  Rah!'  from  hundreds  of  enthusiastic  Harvard 
men  kept  their  crew  up  to  their  work  in  splendid  style. 
Amherst,  encouraged  by  the  good  race  thev  had  already 
made,  kept  up  the  killing  pace  with  most  persistent  and 
seemingly  untiring  energy.  So  we  fought  it  out,  length 
by  length,  with  Bowdoin  still  ahead.  A  crashing  Harvard 
cheer  again  rang  over  the  water,  at  once  joined  and  made 
louder  and  more  thunderous  by  the  shouts  of  those  who 
were  urging  Amherst  on.  The  two  boats  seemed  suddenly 
to  take  on  new  life  and  the  gap  between  them  and  us  was 
rapidly  closing.  Our  stroke  went  up  from  42  to  44,  but 
still  they  gained.  We  quickened  to  46,  which  seemed  to 
barely  hold  them  where  they  were.  Just  then  above  the  din 
of  cheering  came  the  piercing  blast  of  a  steam  whistle,  which 
was  so  loud  and  shrill  that  for  the  moment  all  other  noise 

342 


BOWDOIN  S    FIRST    GREAT    BOAT-RACE 

was  drowned.  Mike  Harrigan  had  pulled  wide  open  the 
whistle  valve,  to  cheer  us  on.  This  friendly  signal  acted 
like  an  electric  shock  upon  our  crew.  The  stroke  went  up 
to  48,  clean  and  strong  as  at  the  start,  the  boat  shot  forward 
with  increasing  speed,  and  our  hottest  rivals  began  to  fall 
astern  again.  Suddenly  I  felt  a  shiver  in  the  boat,  followed 
by  that  fatal  'lurch  to  port.' 

"The  handle  of  my  oar  struck  the  'gunnel'  with  a  bang 
and  the  blade  was  buried  to  the  button.  While  the  port 
oars  were  thus  dragging  in  the  water  the  starboard  oars 
were  waving  in  the  air.  We  struggled  hard  to  right  the 
boat  and  get  the  stroke  again,  but  so  great  was  the  list  to 
port  that  the  oars  of  that  side  would  not  clear  the  water, 
while  the  other  side  could  barely  touch  the  water  with  their 
blades.  The  boat  rocked  from  side  to  side  and  fast  lost  her 
headway.  Amherst  came  steadily  on,  and  now  her  bow 
lapped  our  stern.  In  a  moment  more  she. had  passed  as  if 
we  lay  at  anchor.  Harvard  lapped  us  next,  and  as  she 
was  going  past  we  made  a  desperate  effort  to  prevent  it,  but 
without  success.  How  long  we  labored  thus  I  do  not  know, 
for  seconds  seem  hours  at  such  a  time.  To  have  the  victory 
that  seemed  so  surely  ours  thus  snatched  by  accident  away 
when  almost  in  our  grasp  was  hard  to  bear.  But  still  we 
struggled  on,  trying  to  keep  defeat  from  being  too  disas- 
trous, and  crossed  the  line  the  third  instead  of  first,  with 
almost  broken  hearts." 

As  the  Old  Grad  neared  the  end  of  his  story,  the  inci- 
dents he  was  relating  came  so  vividly  to  his  mind,  the  cheer- 
ing crowds,  the  flashing  oars,  the  flying  boats,  that  he 
unconsciously  had  risen  to  his  feet ;  his  tall  form  was  drawn 
to  its  full  height,  the  muscles  of  his  sinewy  arms  could  be 
seen  working,  as  if  in  remembrance  of  the  events  of  that 
day,  his  eyes  shone  with  excitement,  his  face  flushed,  and 

343 


TAI,ES    01^    BOWDOIN 

his  breath  came  quick  and  heavy  as  if  a^ain  he  had  been 
actually  rowing  in  the  race.  When  the  end  came  he 
dropped  into  his  chair  and  remained  for  some  moments  in 
silence.  His  auditors  knew  that  although  that  first  great 
race  had  been  thus  lost,  the  crews  of  Bowdoin  in  the  next 
few  years  had  won  races  over  these  same  rivals  and  others. 
At  length,  with  a  sigh,  he  arose  to  his  feet,  and  sa.ying  with 
a  saddened  voice,  "I  hope  I  haven't  wearied  you,"  went 
slowly  out,  without  another  word. 

The  younger  men  sprang  up  and  cheered  him  as  he  left, 
and  then  cheered  again  for  Bowdoin  pluck,  and  for  the 
Bowdoin  spirit  which  is  the  same  inspiring  force  today  that 
it  has  been  through  all  the  glorious  history  of  the  college. 


A  COLLEGE  GIRL'S 

BELATED  IDEAL 

Frank  Warri^n  Hawthorne,  '74 


n  COLLEGE  GIRL'S  BELATED  IDEAL 


And,  last,  to  you,  whose  dainty  shoe 

Imprints  the  pathways  classic, 
O  Brunswick  girl,  Romance's  pearl, 

I  drain  a  cup  of  Massic. 

PERCIVAL  Jason  McMillan  sat  alone  at  a  little  table  in 
the  grill  of  the  University  Club.  But  for  his  own 
presence  and  a  group  of  attendants  in  a  farther  corner  chat- 
ting and  gossiping  for  the  most  part  inaudibly,  the  room 
was  deserted,  quiet.  It  was  still  too  early  in  the  afternoon 
for  up-town  New  York  to  drop  in  at  its  clubs  on  the  way 
home  to  dinner.  It  was  much  earlier  than  McMillan's 
wont.  If  asked,  he  couldn't  have  told  exactly  why  he  was 
there  at  3  o'clock.  Why,  the  market  had  barely  closed, 
and  it  would  be  an  hour  and  a  half  yet  before  any  of  his 
friends  was  likely  to  put  in  an  appearance!  How  did  he 
happen  to  "blow  in"  so  early? 

McMillan  had  a  sort  of  half-way  consciousness  that  the 
day,  the  weather  perhaps,  had  had  something  to  do  with  it. 
The  month  was  October,  and  October  had  always  been  a 
more  or  less  eventful  month  in  the  forty  odd  years  of  his 
life.  It  was  in  October  that  he  had  first  met  the  girl  whom 
he  made  his  wife;  they  had  become  engaged  in  October — 
not  the  same  October,  of  course  not ;  their  wedding  day  was 
in  October ;  in  October  their  boy  had  been  born ;  in  the  same 
month  McMillan  had  "pulled  up  stakes"  and  gone  into  the 
Southwest  with  a  vague  idea  of  knocking  a  fortune  of  some 
sort  out  of  that  region ;  in  October,  thirteen  years  later,  he 

347 


TALKS    OF    BOWDOIN 

had  returned,  moderately  successful,  and  made  a  home  in 
New  York;  and  only  a  year  before^ — almost  the  same  date, 
in  fact — he  and  the  son  had  taken  a  desolate  journey  up  into 
Maine  to  bury  the  dead  wife  and  mother — and  here  was 
another  October  rolled  around  again ! 

And  what  a  glorious  Indian  vSummer  day  it  was,  too! 
Just  like  those  which  had  made  so  deep  an  impression  upon 
his  boyhood  life  in  Maine!  And  what  a  flood  of  reminis- 
cence it  called  up ! 

McMillan  had  had  a  noon  engagement  to  lunch  and  talk 
over  some  business  with  a  friend  on  the  upper  West  Side. 
It  was  all  over  by  2  o'clock,  so  he  had  walked  through 
Seventy-second  street  to  the  Park,  thinking-  to  take  a  car 
there  down  town  to  his  office.  But  the  day,  the  bracing 
air,  the  resplendent  foliage  in  the  Park  had  somehow  con- 
spired to  lure  him  inside,  and  he  had  zigzagged  leisurely 
through  it,  coming  out  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  plaza,  and 
thence  the  walk  down  to  his  club  was  only  a  matter  of  a 
few  minutes. 

Why  go  down  town?  There  was  really  no  pressing 
reason  why  he  should.  The  day  had  already  been  knocked 
into  pieces,  so  far  as  doing  any  more  business  was  con- 
cerned— so  into  the  grill  he  had  gone. 

But  still  the  "King  William  high-ball"  stood  untasted  on 
the  table  with  its  little  cube  of  ice  rapidly  melting  away; 
the  cigar,  with  half  an  inch  of  ash  on  it  but  no  suspicion  of 
smoke  about  it,  protruded  over  the  edge  of  the  little  bronze 
tray;  the  top  coat,  hat  and  walking-stick  lay  in  orderly 
fashion  in  the  recess  of  the  open  window ;  and  McMillan, 
well-preserved,  rather  stout,  well-groomed,  with  the  fingers 
of  his  left  hand  straying  occasionally  through  his  greyish- 
and-brown  hair,  sat  thoughtfully  with  the  October  spell  on 
him. 

348 


A    COr,Li:GE    GIRL  S    BELATED    IDEAL 

Then  a  dignified  mulatto  in  liveries,  with  a  letter  on  a 
salver,  appeared  at  the  open  door  and,  with  his  face  and  eyes 
discharged  of  all  expression,  announced  perfunctorily : 

"Mr.  Percival  Jason  McMillan!" 

The  owner  of  the  name  started  out  of  his  reverie,  made 
a  motion  of  acquiescence,  and  the  waiter  advanced  and 
placed  the  missive  in  his  hand,  retiring  in  perfectly  conven- 
tional order. 

McMillan  would  have  known  the  sender  of  the  letter  if 
he  hadn't  recognized  the  writing.  Nobodv  but  Thorne- 
leigh,  his  boy,  ever  addressed  him  by  his  full  name  like 
that.  Thorneleigh  had  early  discovered  the  two  dactyls  and 
the  one  spondee  composing  it  and  had  insisted  that  even 
half  a  hexameter  line  shouldn't  be  wasted;  so  for  a  long 
time  before  that  was  the  mode  the  father's  cards  had  borne 
all  three  names — and,  if  only  it  pleased  Thorneleigh,  it 
"went"  in  the  McMillan  family. 

The  father's  manner  had  changed  instantly  on  the  calling 
out  of  his  name,  and  now  he  stood  up,  tossed  off  the  stale 
high-ball  not  without  a  grimace,  re-lighted  his  cigar,  tore 
the  note  open  and  read : 

Philadelphia,  October  19. 
My  Dear  Father  :— 

Why  can't  you  take  a  run  over  here  to-morrow  and  spend  Sunday  with 
me  ?  I  can't  pfet  away  myself,  or  I  wouldn't  ask  you.  But  I'm  very  anxious 
to  see  you,  and  besides,  I've  something  particular  to  talk  over  with  you. 
You  see,  I  sort  of  feel  that  I  shouldn't  have  done  it  without  first  consulting 
you,  and  I  want  to  ease  my  conscience— there,  I've  said  that  much,  and  I 
may  as  well  tell  the  whole  thing,  right  here! 

I'm  engaged.  Of  course,  she's  the  sweetest  girl  in  the  world— but  not  the 
handsomest,  if  I  do  say  it,  who  shouldn't.  But  you  come  over  and  see  her 
for  yourself.  You'll  fall  dead  in  love  with  her,  I  know,  right  in  the  first  act. 
I  did.  Met  her  only  a  week  ago  out  at  the  Brandy  wine  Links;  have  seen 
her  four  times  since— and  here  I  am,  landed !  I,  only  four  months  out  of 
college,  and  less  than  three  weeks  in  business !  Is  it  all  very  foolish  ?  You 
won't  say  so  when  you  see  the  girl.  Suzanna's  "the  whole  thing"— and  IxQW 
does  that  name  strike  you? 

349 


tale;s  of  bowdoin 

You  see,  her  father,  Surgeon  Pearston,  died  out  in  the  Philippines  two 
years  ago,  and  her  mother  is  now  on  her  way  home  f  i-om  there.  Suzanna's 
just  out  of  Bryn  Mawr.  I  can't  tell  you  any  more  about  her  here.  We've 
been  swapping  biographies,  but  her's  doesn't  come  on  very  well— I  Inter- 
rupt her  too  often. 

But  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do:  Meet  you  at  the  train  to-morrow  afternoon, 
turn  you  over  for  a  while  to  Col.  Jack  Potter  or  some  other  of  your  old 
friends  here,  then  take  you  with  me  to  call  on  Suzanna;  then  I'll  "blow" 
you  both  to  a  good  dinner  out  at  Wissehickon.  We'll  let  Sunday  take  care 
of  itself. 

Thanks  for  my  November  check  so  long  in  advance— and  more  for  the 
extra  fifty  in  it.    You're  a  peach.    Sincerely, 

THORNELEIGH. 

McMillan  wasn't  surprised.  He  never  expected  the  boy 
would  become  engaged  according  to  rule.  But  he  had  read 
the  letter  over  for  the  third  time  before  something  in  it  set 
him  to  thinking  hard  again.  Then  he  called  a  waiter,  had 
his  hat  and  other  belongings  checked  at  the  coat-room, 
ascended  to  the  library,  hunted  up  a  copy  of  Curtis'  "Prue 
and  I" — which  always  had  a  sort  of  soothing  effect  on 
him — retired  to  a  quiet  corner  and  let  the  afternoon  shadows 
gather  slowly  about  him  as  he  read  and  thought. 

The  October  spell  was  on  him  again. 


Yes,  it  was  on  him  fast  and  deep.  It  took  him  back 
thirty  years  or  more  to  a  time  when  he  was  a  boy  fitting  for 
Bowdoin  and  planning  to  enter  there  the  next  year.  And 
it  was  a  bright,  crisp,  clear  October  afternoon,  too,  an 
inspiriting  scene  that  came  up  before  him. 

College  baseball  was  at  that  time  in  its  infancy  in  New 
England.  Even  Harry  and  George  Wright  and  the  old 
"Red  Stockings"  had  only  just  appeared  on  the  professional 
horizon.  Bowdoin  had  organized  a  good  nine,  but  Har- 
vard's was  the  nearest  team  in  the  colleg-e  world,  and  the 

350 


A  coli^dge:  girIv  s  be:ivATe:d  idejai, 

Bowdoins  were  thus  forced  to  confine  their  contests  to  such 
clubs  as  the  State  furnished.  There  were  the  Cushnocs  of 
Augusta,  the  Eons  of  Portland,  the  Live  Oaks  of  Bath,  in 
all  of  whom  the  college  boys  had  found  "foemen  worthy  of 
their  steel" ;  and  latterly,  up  in  Oxford  county,  the  Pennese- 
wassees  of  Norway  or  Paris  Hill  or  some  other  old  hill,  had 
entered  the  lists  for  the  Maine  championship  and  the 
trophy — a  huge  solid  silver  ball  made  to  order  in  Boston 
and  encased  in  a  truly  magnificent  silk-lined  jewellers'  box. 
These  farmers  w^ere  playing  "phenomenal  ball"  even  at  that 
early  day,  had  wiped  up  the  earth  with  all  ordinary  comers, 
and  on  the  afternoon  that  came  so  vividly  back  into 
McMillan's  memory  they  were  playing  the  last  game  in  a 
three-cornered  series,  being  tied  with  the  Bowdoins,  and  the 
championship — not  forgetting  the  silver  ball — was  hinged 
on  this  contest. 

What  a  scene!  A  regular  Donnybrook  Fair  in  minia- 
ture !  And  what  a  crowd,  too !  They  had  come  from  all 
over.  The  whole  town  and  a  good  part  of  Topsham  had 
turned  out,  of  course,  and  it  seemed  as  if  every  livery  team 
in  Bath,  Lewiston  and  Freeport  had  been  called  into  com- 
mission for  the  occasion,  with  nearly  all  the  farm-wagons  in 
the  intervening  country  thrown  in  for  good  measure.  On 
both  sides  of  the  Delta  the  Bath  road  and  the  Harpswell 
road  were  jammed  full  of  teams — many  of  them  gay  turn- 
outs, with  gay  young  men  and  women  occupying  them — 
and  the  cavalcade  stretched  away  down  into  the  pines  and 
opposite  the  Dunlap  monument;  the  grand-stand  was  filled 
to  overflowing  with  students  and  the  "college  girls"  of 
Brunswick;  every  window  in  the  Medical  Hall  had  been 
preempted,  and  "yaggers"  swung  from  the  branches  of 
every  near-by  tree. 

351 


TALES    O^    BOWDOIN 

Into  all  this  mix-up  McMillan,  with  his  plump  cousin  in 
a  brand-new  gown  and  jacket  at  his  side,  had  steered  her 
black  mare  and  phaeton.  They  had  driven  from  their  home 
in  a  neighboring  town  and  had  come  upon  the  scene  just 
in  the  middle  of  the  third  inning,  the  game  being  tempo- 
rarily stopped  in  order  that  Dr.  "Johnny"  Lincoln  might 
examine  the  eye  of  "Sile"  Burnham  of  the  Pennesewassees 
to  learn  if  it  had  been  seriously  injured  by  a  hot  "liner" 
struck  by  Bill  Perley  of  '69.  The  "Oxford  Bears"  were  one 
ahead  on  the  score,  and  the  excitement  was  intense.  Blithe- 
cock  of  '68,  only  just  graduated,  with  a  couple  of 
Dartmouth  Seniors,  who  had  come  down  from  Hanover 
to  arrange  for  a  Bowdoin-Dartmouth  game  if  possible, 
approached  the  phaeton  to  greet  the  plump  cousin  (it  was 
for  this — not  the  game — that  she  had  come)  ;  so  McMillan 
left  her  in  their  company  and  mingled  with  the  excited 
crowd. 

He  had  a  slight  acquaintance  with  two  or  three  under- 
graduates, and  after  some  difficulty  managed  to  find 
Witchell  of  'y2,  who  took  him  in  tow  and  steered  him  onto 
everything  of  interest,  taking  advantage,  now  and  then,  of 
the  opportunity  to  do  a  little  quiet  "fishing." 

"Fifty  cents  he  don't  make  his  second!"  came  in  a  shrill, 
thin  voice  from  near  the  posts  on  the  Harpswell-road  side 
of  the  Delta.  There  stood  a  short,  slight  fellow  in  very 
light  trousers,  the  "bobbiest"  of  bob-tail  cutaways,  a  black 
derby  hat  cocked  over  on  his  ear,  a  red  neck-tie,  and  bunches 
of  greasy  "scrip"  held  between  his  fingers,  while  he  ges- 
ticulated wildly  with  both  arms  and  kept  repeating  his  offer 
in  the  sharpest  crescendo.  (This  was  long  before  the 
resumption  of  specie  payments,  and  our  only  fractional  cur- 
rency was  paper  and  pennies). 

352 


A    COI^LEGE    GIRI^S    B^I^ATED    IDEAL 

It  was  Goodwin  of  '^2,  and  close  by  him  was  his  Pidus 
Achates,  Ireland,  of  the  same  class,  somewhat  similarly 
attired,  but  towering  fully  a  foot  above  him  in  height. 

Price  of  '71,  with  a  most  disreputable-looking  "stove- 
pipe" perched  on  the  back  of  his  head  and  a  long-stemmed 
German  pipe  held  between  his  teeth,  took  the  bet,  after 
rolling  his  r's  a  good  deal  in  discussing  the  terms  of  it.  As 
a  sport.  Price  was  much  inclined  to  look  too  long  for  a  sure 
thing.  "Bob"  Robertson,  the  tailor,  standing  close  by  with 
his  Scotch-plaid  trousers,  as  usual,  guiltless  of  belt  or 
"galluses,"  held  the  stakes,  remarking  to  Goodwin  as  he 
took  the  money,  while  caressing  his  drooping  red  mous- 
tache with  the  back  of  his  hand :  "You'll  never  see  the  color 
of  that  fifty  again,  Frank !" 

There  was  betting  of  a  similar  sort  going  on  all  around 
the  diamond.  All  the  college  sports  were  in  it,  with  not 
a  few  yaggers  and  other  outsiders.  They  all  held  their 
"scrip"  between  their  fingers  counting  it  occasionally,  after 
the  manner  of  a  side-show  hawker  at  a  circus;  sometimes 
the  stakes  would  mount  up  to  a  dollar  or  two,  which  would 
be  the  signal  for  a  good  deal  of  crowding  and  pushing 
around  the  betters,  and  then  "Old  Pot"  and  Townsend, 
the  two  town  constables,  would  have  to  "move-on"  the 
crowd  and  threaten  dire  things  for  disobedience.  The  bet- 
ting was  going  on  constantly — fresh  ones  as  often  as  a 
player  went  to  the  bat,  and  a  good  deal  of  wild  hedging 
and  doubling  up  whenever  a  base  runner  chanced  to  reach 
third  safely. 

It  was  a  Norway  lad,  "Jud"  Parrott,  who  was  spitting 
on  his  hands  at  the  home  plate  and  trying  the  bat  in  all 
sorts  of  positions,  when  Goodwin  made  his  bet.  "Jud's" 
uniform  was  not  a  uniform  at  all — it  was  sui  generis  on 
that  diamond:  A  coarse-ribbed  grey  undershirt,  with  the 
V  353 


TAI^ES    OF    BOWDOIN 

sleeves  rolled  well  up  above  the  elbows ;  a  visorless  red  cap ; 
a  pair  of  "pants"  cut  oif  square  at  the  knees ;  red  stockings 
that  didn't  come  quite  up  to  the  "pants,"  thus  disclosing 
a  good  bit  of  intervening  white  cotton  flannel ;  and  for  shoes 
a  pair  of  old  rubber  boots  cut  off  at  the  ankles.  No  two 
of  the  Pennesewassee  "uniforms"  were  alike  except  in  the 
one  feature  of  abbreviated  leg  gear,  and  one  of  the  nine 
invariably  went  to  the  bat  barefooted,  while  others  ran  their 
bases  in  long-legged  boots. 

But  "Jud"  was  onto  Perley's  curves  in  great  shape.  He 
sent  the  ball  spinning  way  down  among  the  pines  and  went 
sprawling  onto  third  with  both  hands  in  front  of  him  just 
a  second  before  the  Bowdoins'  centre  fielder  got  the  ball  up 
there.  He  was  safe,  and  the  yelling  and  excitement  became 
intense,  while  the  bets  were  multiplied  furiously. 

"Toot"  Carr,  asleep  on  the  box  of  his  hack  with  four 
smartly  dressed  Portland  fellows  inside,  woke  up  at  the 
noise,  blinked  sleepily  around,  borrowed  a  fresh  chew  from 
a  bystander,  and  then  lapsed  promptly  again  "into  the  arms 
of  Morphine,"  as  Melcher  of  '71  put  it — whereat  the  assem- 
bled students  laughed  inordinately,  and  little  McMillan 
thought  it  must  be  a  fine  thing  to  be  an  undergraduate  at 
Bowdoin. 

In  front  of  the  south  steps  of  Adams  a  bit  of  a  town-boy 
whom  everybody  called  Herbert  was  selling  molasses  candy, 
and  another  little  sawed-off  yagger  called  "Ratzy"  was 
peddling  cheroots.  "Pure  Havanas!"  he  kept  shouting, 
"Pure  Havanas  I  Cut  oif  at  both  ends  so't  I  could  get  'em 
into  the  box !" 

Over  in  the  rear  shadows  of  the  old,  low-studded  gym- 
nasium across  the  Bath  road,  Ackley  of  '72  was  showing  the 
abnormally  developed  muscles  of  his  right  calf  to  an 
admiring  crowd,  when  "Prof"  Dole  appeared  on  the  scene, 

354 


coming  through  the  Appian  Way,  and  dispersed  the  sight- 
seers, the  whole  party  rushing  pell-mell  over  into  the  Delta, 
where  pandemonium  had  broken  loose. 

"Jud"  Parrott  had  been  put  out  trying  to  steal  home, 
"Wally"  Hooker  of  the  Bowdoins  had  made  a  home  run  in 
the  last  half  of  the  fifth,  and  the  score  was  now  tied  on 
even  innings.  In  all  the  buggies  and  barouches  the  occu- 
pants were  standing  up  cheering  lustily  for  Bowdoin  or  the 
"  'Wassees"  and  waving  handkerchiefs,  hats,  canes  and 
improvised  flags.  The  college  girls  kept  up  an  almost  con- 
tinuous hand-clapping,  and  as  often  as  it  subsided  some- 
body would  call  for  "three  cheers  for  Hooker !"  which  would 
be  given  with  a  "tiger"  on  the  end  that  awoke  the  echoes, 
Bowdoin,  like  most  of  the  American  colleges,  had  not  yet, 
in  the  autumn  of  1868,  arisen  to  the  dignity  of  a  college 
yell. 

A  party  of  Gleam  Boat  Club  men  from  Bath,  standing 
on  the  seats  of  an  open  carriage,  were  offering  all  sorts  of 
wagers  on  the  college  nine,  with  few  takers,  when  a  hump- 
backed sport  from  Portland  elbowed  his  way  through  the 
surging  crowd  and,  flashing  a  crisp,  new  bill  on  the  Bath 
enthusiasts,  shouted : 

"A  hundred  dollars  even  that  the  farmers  win  the  ball  !'* 

That  feazed  the  Bath  boys  for  a  minute  or  two,  especially 
as  the  hunch- back  kept  repeating  the  offer.  But,  after  a 
whispered  consultation,  Frank  Russell,  two  of  the  Hough- 
ton boys  and  PVank  Joslyn-Ricker  came  up  with  the  "cen- 
tury." "Bill"  Field  held  the  stakes,  and  the  backers  of 
Bowdoin  took  heart  again  as  news  of  the  $200  bet  flew  over 
the  field. 

The  game  moved  along  with  varying  fortune  for  the  two 
teams  through  the  sixth  and  seventh  innings — a  whole  game 
used  sometimes  to  occupy  four  or  five  hours  in  those  days — 

355 


TALES    01?    BOWDOIN 

and  McMillan,  strolling  about  among  the  onlookers  with 
now  and  then  an  introduction  from  his  undergraduate 
friend  to  some  well-known  college  character,  was  at  length 
attracted  by  a  smart  basket  phaeton  outfit,  with  two  young 
girls  on  the  seat,  one  of  them  holding  a  whip  in  her  right 
hand  while  with  the  left  she  managed  the  reins  as  dex- 
terously as  a  track  expert. 

She  was  a  picture — an  oval-shaped,  rather  thoughtful- 
expressioned  face,  with  blueish  hazel  eyes  and  dark  brown 
hair;  a  gown  of  some  soft  black,  clinging  material  unre- 
lieved by  even  a  bit  of  color  or  other  adornment;  a  big, 
broad  scarf  of  white  India  mull  about  her  neck  crossed 
demurely  in  front  like  a  nun's  amice  and  caught  and  held 
together  with  a  college  society  pin ;  a  big  black  hat  flaring 
up  on  one  side  and  topped  with  two  great  ostrich  feathers, 
white  and  black ;  her  black  kid  gloves  fitted  a  pair  of  plump 
hands  as  perfectly  as  those  on  the  store  models;  and  a 
short  black-cloth  jacket,  perfectly  plain,  completed  a  cos- 
tume that  was  not  fashionable  or  even  conventional  in  those 
days;  and  the  figure  was  all  the  more  striking  in  its 
picturesqueness  because  of  its  contrast  with  the  handsome, 
stylishly  dressed  girl  at  her  side. 

"That's  Miss  Halsey,  the  most  popular  college  girl  in 
Brunswick,"  whispered  Witchell.  "All  the  best  fellows 
know  her  from  Seniors  down  and  a  half  dozen  of  'em  are 
in  love  with  her,  so  it's  said.  She  knows  everything  that's 
going  on  in  college,  all  the  college  secrets,  all  the  little  love 
affairs  and  flirtations;  but  she  never  gossips,  never  gets 
anybody  in  trouble,  and  never  makes  an  enemy,  they  say. 
And  the  girls  all  like  her,  too.  She  treats  a  Freshman  or 
a  Medic  just  as  nicely  as  she  does  a  Junior — and  I  guess 
that's  the  secret  of  it." 

356 


A  coi.i.e;gi:  girl's  b^latsd  id^al 

But  Witchell,  unfortunately,  didn't  enjoy  an  acquaintance 
with  this  picturesque  paragon  of  a  girl — so  little  McMillan 
was  unhappy  for  the  moment,  as  there  was  no  chance  of 
being  presented  to  her  then. 

The  game  went  furiously  on  into  the  first  half  of  the 
ninth  inning — ^but  McMillan  had  lost  all  interest  in  it.  The 
basket  phaeton  with  the  calico  mare  kept  moving  all  about, 
always  with  a  group  of  students  about  it,  and  sometimes  it 
disappeared  altogether  from  the  scene;  but  wherever  it 
stopped  about  the  Delta,  McMillan  somehow  found  himself 
near,  with  his  eyes  fairly  rivetted  on  the  black-gowned 
driver.  His  student  escort  had  left  him,  and  he  was  just 
beginning  to  wonder  if  it  wasn't  time  to  look  up  his  plump 
cousin,  when  loud  shouts,  angry  protests  and  a  bit  of  pro- 
fanity intermingled  suddenly  drew  his  attention,  and  pushed 
along  by  the  crowd  he  found  himself  near  the  home  plate. 

"Sile"  Bumham  had  struck  a  "grounder"  down  past  the 
first  base,  and  followed  it  himself  as  if  shot  out  of  a  can- 
non's mouth;  the  ball  had  been  stopped  by  the  Bowdoins' 
right  fielder,  who  sent  it  in  to  the  first  baseman  in  fine  form 
just  as  "Sile's"  rubber  shoe  landed  on  the  bag.  Was  he 
"out"  or  not? 

"Judgment '  Judgment !"  went  up  from  all  over  the  field. 
The  umpire  hesitated,  and  players  and  spectators  all 
crowded  up  about  that  official  to  proffer  advice  and  give 
information.  A  hundred  or  more  were  talking,  shouting, 
protesting,  arguing  all  at  once — and  the  excitement  was 
at  an  almost  riotous  pitch,  for  the  Pennesewassees  had  a 
good  lead  in  the  score,  there  were  two  men  out  already,  and 
the  Bowdoins  had  only  half  an  inning  in  which  to  catch  up ; 
besides,  there  was  more  or  less  "scrip"  up  on  the  game  and 
on  this  particular  play.     "Sile"  Burnham  couldn't  resist  the 

357 


TALES    01?    BOWDOIN 

temptation  to  join  in  the  angry  debate,  and  he  started  to 
run  up  to  the  umpire. 

"Hold  your  gool,  'Sile'!  Hold  that  gool,  Silas!  Get 
back  there,  you  d n  fool !" 

The  "Wassees'  "  captain  had  a  voice  on  him  like  a  hired 
man's  and  his  warning  came  none  too  soon,  for  the  first 
baseman^  who  had  also  been  off  the  bag,  was  already  bear- 
ing down  on  Silas  to  clap  the  ball  on  him.  in  which  event 
he  would  have  been  out  anyway,  much  to  the  umpire's 
relief.  Silas  obeyed  in  time,  but  "Hold  your  gool!"  from 
that  moment  became  a  college  byword  and  went  down 
securely  in  Bowdoin  baseball  traditions. 

At  length  came  the  decision — "Out  at  first !  Three  out ! 
Side  out !" 

And  the  Bowdoins,  not  altogether  cheerful  or  hopeful, 
went  back  to  the  bat  for  the  last  time,  with  the  odds  heavily 
against  them. 

A  whitewash  was  their  record  for  that  inning. 

Then  the  riotous  element  broke  loose  again.  They  yelled, 
hissed,  hurrahed,  "groaned"  for  the  umpire  and  did  all  sorts 
of  things  to  stir  up  the  excited  crowd  and  add  to  the  general 
confusion.  Skittish  horses  reared  and  backed,  wheels  got 
interlocked,  there  were  one  or  two  upsets  and  half  a  dozen 
incipient  fights  stopped  promptly  by  the  long-bearded  "Pot." 
On  top  of  it  all  a  chorus  of  horns  swelled  up  from  over  on 
the  campus,  the  big  Phi  Chi  drum  boomed  a  thunderous 
bass,  the  "ponderous  hewgag  that  had  made  Gomorrah 
hum"  for  five  years  back  added  its  notes  to  the  din,  and 
then  twenty  odd  Sophomores,  in  battered  "beavers"  and 
skull-and-cross-bones  togas,  and  led  by  Charlie  "Shep" 
came  trooping  into  the  field.  Eye-glassed  Seniors  and 
smartly  dressed  Juniors  were  carrying  members  of  the 

3S8 


A    COLLEGE   GIRIv'S    B^r^ATE^D   IDEA!, 

defeated  nine  about  on  their  shoulders  just  as  if  they  were 
victors;  the  president  of  the  baseball  association  had  made 
a  little  speech  formally  surrendering  the  silver  ball  to  the 
Norway  boys ;  their  captain  had  replied  in  an  acknowledg- 
ment that  comprehended  little  more  than  "Thank  you.  By 
gawd,  Silas,  weVe  got  that  ball  \" ;  the  early  evening 
shadows  were  already  gathering,  and  the  crowd  was  begin- 
ning to  scatter. 

Then  "Mose"  Owen  of  '6i,  who  had  been  in  the  company 
of  the  Gleam  Boat  Club  boys  all  the  afternoon,  and  under 
the  influence  of  their  hospitality  had  felt  the  aMatus  divinus 
gradually  moving  him  to  composition,  stood  up  on  the  box 
of  "Ant"  Hall's  hack  and  read  dramatically  to  the  multi- 
tude, now  hushed  into  semi-silence,  these  lines  scrawled  in 
pencil  on  a  glazed  paper  cuff — an  apostrophe  to  his  home 
ball  nine : 

"Majestic  Live  Oaks !    Your  names  shall  stand 
When  broken  noses  adorn  the  land, 
And  forth,  next  Spring,  at  your  Kicker's,  call 
May  you  strike  a  blow  for  that  silver  ball 
Which  now  reposes,  'mid  cows  and  bosses, 
Up  with  the  gentle  Pennesewasses; 
For,  though  Bowdoins  swore  they  would  never  yield, 
They  were  "choked"  to  death  on  their  chosen  field— 
They  got  dismayed,  and  could  not  rally 
At  the  cry  of  'Out!'  instead  of  'Tally!'  " 

Thus  ended  the  famous  Bowdoin-Pennesewassee  game. 

Little  McMillan  had  never  lost  sight  of  the  basket  phae- 
ton. But  now  he  rather  reluctantly  hunted  up  the  plump 
cousin,  who  promptly  substituted  him  for  the  Dartmouth 
man  at  her  side,  the  striped,  crocheted  lap-robe  was  tucked 
in  at  the  sides  of  the  buggy,  and  they  were  just  about  to 
take  the  road  for  home  when  the  plump  cousin  whispered : 

"Why,  there  comes  Suzanne  Halsey !  Just  the  sweetest, 
sensiblest  girl !     I've  been  trying  all  the  afternoon  to  get  a 

359 


TAI^KS    O?    BOWDOIN 

chance  to  speak  with  her.  You  ought  to  know  her,  Percy. 
Whoa !" — and  the  introduction  was  over  in  half  a  minute. 

It  was  merely  a  well-bred  nod,  a  hurried  chat  with  the 
cousin,  and  then :  "I  hear  you're  to  enter  Bowdoin  next  year, 
Mr.  McMillan.  I  hope  I  shall  see  something^  of  you  and 
that  we'll  be  good  friends.     Good  night!" 

And  the  picturesque  paragon  in  black  gracefully  waved 
her  whip  with  the  Bowdoin  ribbons  tied  on  the  handle,  and 
whisked  out  of  sight  in  the  early  twilight. 

McMillan  had  met  his  fate — but  it  took  him  a  long,  long 
time  to  find  it  out. 


*'Wake  up  there,  Fleecie!  Break  away  there,  old  man! 
We've  been  looking  all  over  for  you  for  the  past  three 
hours."  (Early  in  his  college  days  McMillan's  middle 
name  had  easily  suggested  Jason's  voyage  in  search  of 
the  golden  fleece — and  thenceforward  he  was  known  as 
"Fleecie"  and  so  addressed  by  everybody). 

It  was  a  trio  of  '75  men  who  thus  aroused  him  from  his 
reverie  in  the  library  comer.  "Bodine  of  '73,"  they  con- 
tinued almost  in  concert,  "has  just  blown  in  here  from 
Minneapolis  and  we're  going  to  give  him  a  dinner  up  at 
the  Claremont.  Brace  up  and  come  along !  We're  none  of 
us  going  to  dress  for  it.  The  carriage  is  down  at  the  door 
now" — and  they  fairly  pushed  McMillan  along  and  out  onto 
the  sidewalk. 

At  the  dinner  he  was  a  little  moody  at  first.  When  he 
asked  if  any  of  them  recalled  who  it  was  that  Miss  Halsey 
had  married,  Curtman  was  quite  sure  that  it  was  a  doctor — 
but  nobody  recalled  anything  further.  There  was  some 
chaflF  over  the  college  girls  and  the  query  "Are  we  so  soon 
forgotten?"      but  even  when  the  little  company  of  diners 

360 


A  coi^LUGD  girl's  be;i.ati:d  iddai, 

were  at  their  gayest  McMillan  found  himself  wishing  that 
the  morrow  would  come  and  speed  him  to  Philadelphia. 

On  the  train  for  there  next  day  he  recalled  a  thousand 
and  one  of  the  incidents  that  clustered  about  his  association 
with  Suzanne  Halsey,  in  college  and  afterward.  She  was 
a  bright,  thoroughly  original  girl,  thoroughly  independent 
in  all  her  ideas  and  ways,  and  could  do  the  most  unconven- 
tional, almost  outrageous  things  even,  without  provoking 
criticism  or  barely  comment  from  the  townsfolk  or  the  little 
college  world.  She  was  only  eighteen  years  old,  but  well- 
educated  even  then,  a  lover  of  books,  extremely  well  bred, 
with  a  vein  of  humor  that  never  ran  out,  and  a  kindly  dis- 
position toward  everybody  in  the  whole  wide  world. 

It  was  Suzanne  who  flew  in  the  face  of  college  and  town 
social  traditions  by  engineering  the  famous  Freshman 
sleigh-ride  to  Lisbon  Falls  in  the  Winter  of  1869-70.  On 
that  occasion  eighteen  or  twenty  '73  men  took  as  many 
"Senior  girls"  on  a  ride  and  hop  without  even  letting  the 
ladies'  men  of  '70  into  the  secret,  whereat  there  was  wrath 
in  upper-classdom  and  a  tornado  of  gossip  in  town,  until 
it  was  known  that  Suzanne  had  negotiated  many  of  the 
preliminary  introductions  that  had  been  necessary,  and  had 
infused  enough  enthusiasm  and  courage  into  the  other  girls 
to  get  them  to  accept  invitations  from  Freshmen.  Then 
the  affair  took  on  another  aspect — it  was  all  right. 

It  was  Suzanne  who,  in  male  attire  and  mask  and  with 
dark  lantern  and  hatchet,  had  "gone  the  college  rounds"  one 
Winter  midnight  with  the  "Omicrons"  and  refused  to  faint 
when  the  uncovering  of  a  barrel  on  the  top  floor  of  the 
Medical  hall  had  disclosed  the  head  and  face  of  a  corpse 
floating  in  alcohol. 

She  never  danced — never  so  much  as  attended  a  college 
hop  or  German — but  she  always  knew  exactly  what  girls 

361 


TALES    OF    BOWDOIN 

had  been  invited,  and  she  somehow  managed  to  bring  the 
disengaged  students  and  the  uninvited  girls  together  before 
the  night  of  the  function. 

So  secure  was  she  in  the  college  friendships  that  she 
formed  that,  when  she  took  a  notion  that  she  would  like  to 
go  here  or  there,  or  to  this  or  that  entertainment,  she  felt 
perfectly  free  to  ask  any  one  of  her  young  men  friends  to 
take  her  or  to  permit  her  to  act  as  escort  herself. 

One  soft  Indian  Summer  day  in  McMillan's  Junior  year 
he  had  gone  to  the  club  to  dinner  and  found  there  under  his 
plate  a  business-looking  note,  which  read : 

"This  will  be  a  glorious  afternoon  for  a  drive,  Fleecie.  I'm  afraid  you 
won't  think  to  ask  me— so  I'll  call  around  at  Sodom  in  the  phaeton  at  2 
o'clock  for  you.  If  you  can't  go,  come  to  your  window  and  say  so;  if  you 
can,  why,  come  down  and  jump  in." 

And  Suzanne  did  the  thing  up  right  with  a  pocketful  of 
cigars  and  a  box  of  confectionery — but  hadn't  thought  of 
toll  to  pay  on  Bay  Bridge,  and  was  mortified  beyond  meas- 
ure to  have  to  borrow  it  of  her  companion. 

It  was  Suzanne  who  sent  flowers  and  delicacies  to  sick 
undergraduates  whom  "the  girls"  didn't  know,  simply 
because  "there  was  nobody  else  to  do  it.'*  She  it  was  who 
wrote  comforting  letters  to  the  sisters  and  mothers  of  sus- 
pended Sophomores  so  that  they  would  be  "let  down  easy 
at  home."  She  knew  all  about  the  plot  to  steal  the  chapel 
bell  in  the  Fall  of  1870,  for  a  month  before  the  actual  theft, 
and  had  measured  the  mouth  of  nearly  every  reservoir  and 
well-platform  in  town  to  see  if  it  was  big  enough  to  take 
the  bell  in — that  was  to  divert  suspicion  from  any  of  the 
thieves  who  might  be  recalled  afterward  as  having  measured 
these  things.  She  made  the  foul  flags  for  the  ball  grounds, 
embroidered  the  big  "B"  on  the  boat  club's  colors,  and  when 
the  crews  were  in  training  down  at  Humphreys'  Mill  used 

362 


A    COIvIyKGEi   girl's    BE;i,ATe:d   IDEAIv 

to  drive  their  ''best  girls"  down  there  to  see  them,  because 
the  oarsmen  couldn't  get  up  to  town  themselves.  She  could 
skate  like  a  professional,  could  paddle  a  canoe  safely  through 
the  Hog  Island  rapids,  and  once  when  an  oarless  skiff  with 
two  small  French  boys  in  it  was  about  to  be  carried  over 
the  upper  falls  she  had  waded  out  with  Layton,  of  '69,  into 
the  still,  shallow  waters  above  the  dam  and  caught  the  boat 
with  the  crooked  end  of  an  umbrella-stick  just  in  time. 

There  were  lots  of  fellows  who  used  to  get  devoted  to 
her — but  never  engaged.  Brimley,  of  '69,  for  a  long  time 
after  he  had  graduated,  used  to  come  back  to  Brunswick 
often  to  see  her,  and  as  McMillan's  own  Senior  year  was 
waning  he  couldn't  quite  decide  which  she  cared  for  the 
more,  himself  or  Brimley.  But  one  May  afternoon,  just  as 
the  dandelions  were  the  yellowest  and  the  syringas  were 
beginning  to  bud,  she  was  sitting  with  him  on  her  back 
porch,  and  looked  so  irresistible  that  McMillan,  after  due 
deliberation,  was  just  on  the  point  of  settling  the  thing  right 
there  and  then,  when  she  broke  in  with : 

"Don't  look  at  me  in  that  tone  of  voice,  Fleecie.  It 
doesn't  become  you.  And  it  sort  of  frightens  me,  besides. 
Do  you  know  what  I  was  thinking  of  ?  No,  of  course  you 
don't,  or  you  wouldn't  have  looked  that  way !  Well,  it  was 
this:  If  ever  my  ideal  should  stumble  along  and  find  me, 
and  want  me  to  marry  him,  I  should  insist,  as  a  pre- 
requisite, that  the  marriage  ceremony  should  take  place  on 
the  steps  of  the  south  wing  of  the  Chapel,  on  an  October 
afternoon  when  the  maples  are  the  most  gorgeous  and  the 
hedges  still  in  leaf.  You're  pretty  near  my  ideal,  Fleecie — 
only  just  a  little  'shy.'     But  I'm  young  yet." 

Then  he  was  almost  dead-sure  that  Brimley  was  "it." 

But  nearly  four  years  later,  during  which  time  he  had 
seen  much  of  the  girl  at  intervals,  he  met  her  one  morning 

363 


tale:s  of  bowdoin 

at  a  florists'  exhibition  in  New  York,  and,  as  they  walked 
up  town  together,  he  announced  his  own  engagement  and 
approaching  marriage.  She  was  radiantly  effusive  in  her 
congratulations,  assured  him,  however,  that  she  had  long 
foreseen  the  outcome  of  what  she  was  pleased  to  term  his 
"little  affair,"  and  then  informed  him  serenely  that  Brimley 
was  engaged,  to 

"Oh,  no ;  not  to  me — for  I  know  you  were  going  to  ask 
it — to  an  army  oflicer's  daughter  now  at  the  post  with  her 
father  at  Fort  Pembina.  But  I've  an  inspiration,  Fleecie. 
'Brim'  is  in  town  here  now.  Suppose  you  both  dine  with 
me  at  the  Brunswick  tomorrow — a  sort  of  parting  feast 
from  a  bachelor  girl  to  two  'shy'  ideals  ?  Drop  in  here  with 
me,  and  I'll  get  'Brim'  on  the  telephone." 

If  the  idea  of  the  dinner  was  an  inspiration,  the  dinner 
itself  was  a  poem.  All  three  were  at  their  very  best  and 
very  brightest,  and  when  the  white  Burgundy  was  being 
served  McMillan  imparted  to  Brimley  his  Senior-year 
secret : 

"If  you  hadn't  been  in  the  way,"  he  said,  "I  know  I 
should  have  lost  my  heart  to  Suzanne,  here.  I  came  des- 
perately near  it." 

"Holy  corner-lots !  By  all  the  first  liens  and  second  mort- 
gages!" (Brimley  was  in  real  estate)  "It  was  you,  man, 
that  saved  me  from  making  myself  ridiculous !  If  I  hadn't 
firmly  believed  that  she  was  dead  in  love  with  you,  I  should 
have  proposed  a  dozen  times!" 

But  the  pair  had  finally  to  admit  that  it  was  Suzanne  her- 
self who  had  saved  them  both  from  making  fools  of  them- 
selves. 

And  as  they  both  escorted  her  from  the  carriage  and  up 
the  steps  of  her  brother's  home  to  say  good-night  and  good- 
bye, the  older  of  the  two  couldn't  resist  the  temptation  to 

364 


A  C0I.LI:GE  GIRIv  s  b^IvATe:d  idejal 

recite  somewhat  dramatically,  with  apologies  to  Thomas 
Bailey  Aldrich — 

"Anrl  if,  perchance,  again  we  meet 

On  this  side  or  that  of  the  equator, 
If  then  I  have  not  turned  teetotaler, 

And  have  wherewith  to  pay  the  waiter. 
To  thee  I'll  drain  a  modest  cup, 

Ignite  with  thee  the  mild  Havana, 

And  we  will  waft,  while  liquoring  up, 

Forgiveness  to  the  coy  Suzanna." 

McMillan  had  never  seen  either  Suzanne  or  Brimley  after 
that  parting — twenty-three  years  ago. 


Thorneleigh  boarded  the  train  twenty  miles  east  of  Phila- 
delphia, very  much  excited. 

"I  couldn't  wait  for  you,  Pop,"  he  explained.  "My 
Suzanne's  mother  has  come — Mrs.  Pearston,  you  know — 
come  unexpectedly  from  'Frisco.  In  the  very  deepest  of 
deep  mourning.  And,  but  for  her  white  hair,  she  wouldn't 
look  a  day  older  than  her  daughter.  And,  oh,  my,  but  she's 
a  beauty!  She  was  'easy,'  too — ^never  even  protested  or 
looked  me  over,  but  told  Suzanne  she  rather  liked  me! 
How's  that  for  a  'mother-in-law-elect'?  And  in  half  an 
hour  she  had  told  me  more  about  you  than  you  had  ever 
told  me  yourself  in  all  your  life !" 


There  were  four  plates  laid  at  Thomeleigh's  little  Wisse- 
hickon  dinner — and  somehow  McMillan  didn't  get  back  to 
his  club  for  a  full  week. 

Nearly  a  year  later  the  Union  Square  stationer  protested 
that  the  wording  of  these  cards  was  in  shockingly  bad  form, 

363 


TAI,KS    O^    BOWDOIN 

but  he  had  finally  to  give  in,  and  the  engraver  nearly  had  a 
fit  when  the  copy  came  into  his  hands: 

It  would  please  Mrs.  Thomas  Telfair  Pearston  exceedingly  to 
see  you  on  the  turf  by  the  south  wing  of  the  Chapel,  Bowdoin  Col- 
lege, at  4  o'clock,  on  the  afternoon  of  October  20,  next;  on  the 
steps  her  daughter,  Suzanna  Halsey  Pearston,  will  be  married  to 
Mr.  Thorneleigh  McMillian,  of  Philadelphia. 

[Over.] 

At  the  same  place,  fifteen  minutes  later,  Mr.  Thorneleigh  Mc- 
Millan would  be  pleased  to  have  you  witness  the  marriage  of 
his  father,  Mr.  Percival  Jason  McMillan,  of  New  York,  and  Mrs. 
Thomas  Telfair  Pearston,  of  Washington,  D.  C. 

Rain  or  shine. 

All  four  at  home,  Montclair,  N.  J.,  Thursdays  in  December. 

Mrs.  Pearston-McMillan  explained  to  anybody  rude 
enough  to  comment  on  the  cards  that  the  scheme  saved 
envelopes,  postage  and  a  good  bit  of  fuss  and  feathers — she 
w^as  under  contract  to  marry  that  way  whenever  her  ideal, 
happened  to  stumble  along. 


ONE  NIGHT  IN  JUNE 

John  Clair  Minot,  '96 


ONE  NIGHT  IN  JUNE 

aFTER  the  crowd  had  cheered  the  ends  and  given  the 
final  cheers  for  the  college  and  the  Senior  class  in 
front  of  the  Chapel,  most  of  the  fellows  started  for  the  Art 
Building  steps,  just  for  a  song  or  two ;  but  with  a  common 
impulse  the  half-dozen  boys  of  the  Senior  delegation  lin- 
gered behind. 

"We've  sung  enough  for  one  night,"  declared  Tucker, 
and  the  hoarseness  of  his  voice,  whatever  the  cause,  seemed 
to  vindicate  the  assertion.  "Let's  stay  here  and  listen.  It 
will  sound  great  across  the  campus." 

"We  are  out  of  the  active  ranks  now,  anyway,  and  we 
might  as  well  get  used  to  the  sensation,"  said  Macfarlane  in 
a  tone  which  indicated  that  to  him,  at  least,  the  sensation 
did  not  bring  much  joy. 

And,  indeed,  it  was  a  solemn,  rather  than  the  usual  joy- 
ous, gathering  which  the  old  fraternity  hall  had  witnessed 
that  evening;  The  farewell  supper  to  the  Senior  delegation 
is  apt  to  be  such,  for  the  shadow  of  the  approaching  parting 
is  heavy  upon  all  hearts  and  the  severing  of  the  ties  of  active 
membership  is  not  a  cheerful  process.  The  Senior  whose 
throat  does  not  fill  when  he  gets  upon  his  feet  to  speak  after 
the  spread  is  either  a  hardened  wretch  with  little  feeling,  or 
a  man  of  great  self-control.  And  few  college  boys  belong 
to  either  class.  So  it  was  with  natures  tuned  in  a  minor 
key  that  these  boys  watched  their  brothers  of  the  lower 
w  369 


TAI^ES    OF    BOWDOIN 

delegations  hurry  across  the  campus  to  the  Art  Building 
while  they  remained  behind  and  seated  themselves  upon  the 
Chapel  steps. 

At  first  there  was  little  said.  It  was  a  glorious  night  in 
early  June.  Through  the  foliage  of  the  trees  the  full  moon 
made  its  witching,  wavering  tracery  upon  the  campus  paths. 
From  the  resonant  loggia  of  the  Walker  Art  Building,  sung 
with  the  spirit  and  harmony  that  only  undergradute  voices 
know,  softened  in  volume  by  the  distance,  yet  marvellously 
clear  on  the  air  of  the  solemn  midnight,  came  the  old  songs 
of  the  college  and  the  fraternity. 

Big  Mosher  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence.  He  had 
less  sentiment  than  the  other  fellows,  po'ssibly  due  to  the 
fact  that  he  had  played  football,  four  years.  ''Say,  Tom, 
do  you  remember  the  first  time  we  walked  up  this  central 
path  to  the  Chapel?  O,  but  I  was  verdant  then.  Still  I 
wasn't  frightened,  while  you  were  morally  certain  you'd  be 
killed  in  the  rush  after  chapel.  It  seems  only  yesterday, 
but  in  a  few  weeks  more  we'll  be  parading  down  this  same 
path,  togged  out  in  caps  and  gowns,  right  behind  the  band, 
the  heroes  of  Commencement  week.  Can  you  realize  it, 
Tom?" 

Tom  Winslow  realized  it  keenly  enough  without  the  aid 
of  the  slap  which  Mosher  gave  his  shoulder.  "It's  all  right 
being  a  Commencement  hero  and  following  the  band,  but 
what  about  next  year,  when  we  come  back  and  are  dropped 
clear  to  the  tail  ot  the  procession  ?  There's  no  fun  or  glory 
in  being  alumni.     I'd  like  to  start  my  course  over  again," 

"O,  well,  we  all  would,  in  a  way,"  said  Tucker,  "and  then 
again  we  wouldn't.  It  is  up  to  us  to  get  out  and  hustle, 
and  do  something  so  that  Bowdoin  won't  be  ashamed  of  us." 

"You  are  cut  out  for  a  preacher,  no  doubt,"  interposed 
Macfarlane,  whereat  the  group  laughed  softly.     "But  you 

370 


ONE    NIGHT    IN    JUNE 

can't  make  ns  feel  really  reconciled  to  the  prospect  of  leav- 
ing here.  1  tell  you,  boys,  now  that  we  are  just  ready  to 
graduate  we  are  beginning  to  appreciate  life  here  and  to 
realize  what  it  means  to  touch  shoulders  as  chums  at  this 
old  college.  I  wish  somebody  would  write  a  book  of  Bow- 
doin  stories  so  that  a  youngster  about  to  enter  here  could 
get  some  conception  of  the  good  things  in  store  for  him. 
It  would  take  more  than  one  book,  though,  to  do  the  subject 
justice." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  Kellogg's  Whispering  Pine 
stories?"  suggested  Winslow. 

"Nothing,  of  course.  They  are  the  best  ever  written  in 
their  line,  but  they  touch  only  on  life  and  pranks  here  sixty; 
years  ago,  and  lots  of  things  worth  writing  about  have  hap- 
pened around  here  since  then.  They  are  not  the  oldest 
Bowdoin  stories,  by  the  way,  for  Hawthorne's  first  novel, 
'Fanshawe,'  published  the  year  after  he  graduated,  dealt 
with  college  life,  and  the  scenes  and  characters  are  plainly 
those  of  early  Bowdoin,  thinly  disguised.  One  scene  is  a 
student  revel  ui  the  old  Tontine,  interrupted  by  the  Presi- 
dent. The  villain  is  an  ex-pirate  who  tries  to  capture  the 
President's  fair  ward.  The  hero  was  soulful  and  stu- 
dious, too  good  to  live  long.  It  is  quite  a  yam,  and  told  in 
splendid  English,  though  the  style  seems  a  bit  heavy  and 
old  fashioned  now.  They  say  that  Hawthorne  regarded  it 
as  a  youthful  effort  and  wasn't  particularly  proud  of  it, 
though  since  his  death  it  is  included  in  his  works.  It  isn't 
much  read.  Even  Prof.  Harry  admitted  to  me,  the  other 
day,  that  he  had  never  seen  the  book.  But  what  we  want 
is  a  book  of  Bowdoin  stories  of  recent  years  and  today. 
Think  of  the  unlimited  amount  of  good  material  that  is 
waiting  to  be  used, — and  there  are  scores  and  scores  of 

371 


tai,e:s  of  bowdoin 

literary  men,  some  of  them  winners,  too,  among  the 
alumni." 

"You  are  right,  Mac,"  said  Tucker,  "it  ougfht  to  be  done 
and  probably  will  be,  some  day.  Why,  I  know  enough  good 
stories  myself,  if  I  could  only  tell  them  well,  to  fill  a  small 
library,  and  I  don't  pretend  to  know  much  of  the  college 
before  our  day,  either.  Just  think  of  the  days  when  Phi 
Chi  was  young,  and  when  the  great  drill  rebellion  was  on, 
and  when  there  was  a  girls'  boarding  school  just  across 
from  the  campus,  and  when  they  had  yagger  wars,  and 
when  they  buried  'Anna,'  and  when — when  lots  of  things 
happened,"  he  concluded  lamely,  stopping  rather  on  account 
of  the  great  possibilities  presented  than  because  he  had 
exhausted  his  list. 

"Speaking  of  'Anna,'  "  broke  in  Mosher,  "do  you  know 
that  when  Lieutenant  Peary  was  here  at  the  '97  Commence- 
ment, just  before  starting  for  the  Pole,  he  and  a  dozen  of 
his  classmates  took  the  ''jy  'Anna'  gravestone  from  the 
terrace  at  South  Appleton  where  it  had  been  transplanted, 
and  dragged  it  out  into  its  first  resting  place  in  the  pines 
beyond  the  Observatory  ?    They  had  a  lot  of  fun  over  it." 

"I  should  think  the  most  interesting  stories  could  be  made 
out  of  the  old  days,"  observed  Winslow.  "The  planting  of 
Thomdike  oak,  for  instance.  You  know  that  George 
Thorndike,  who  buried  the  little  acorn  over  beside  the  steps 
of  Massachusetts,  was  in  the  first  class  and  he  died  in 
Russia,  I  believe,  the  first  graduate  of  Bowdoin  to  die.  If 
that  old  oak  could  talk,  as  Tennyson's  did.  what  tales  it 
could  tell  us,  tonight.  In  those  first  years  the  whole  college 
was  housed  in  Massachusetts,  and  Prexie  McKeen  used  to 
call  the  boys  to  prayers  by  rapping  with  his  cane  on  the 
stairs.  The  first  Commencement  was  held  in  September, 
and  I've  read  that  it  was  postponed  one  day  on  account  of 

372 


ONE    NIGHT    IN    JUNE 

the  rain.  Commencement  was  always  held  late  in  the  Sum- 
mer, and  in  the  early  times  it  was  more  or  less  like  a  circus, 
I  judge,  and  everybody,  drove  in  from  miles  around  and 
made  a  day  of  it  with  peanuts  and  red  lemonade,  or  their 
equivalents." 

"It  is  something  of  a  circus  now,"  remarked  Mosher, 
thinking  of  three  girls,  in  Bath,  Lewiston  and  Portland 
respectively,  all  of  whom  were  eagerly  counting  on  being 
his  guests  when  the  great  occasion  came. 

But  Winslow  refused  to  heed  the  interruption  and  went 
on :  "There  ought  to  be  a  ghost  story  or  two,  or  at  least 
some  wild  larks,  in  the  old  tumble-down,  deserted  tavern 
that  stood  for  years  on  the  corner  of  the  campus,  near  the 
church.  But  I  suppose  the  real  Bowdoin  ghost  stories  could 
be  found  in  some  of  the  grave-robbing  episodes  that  were 
more  or  less  frequent  when  the  Medics  had  harder  work  to 
get  subjects  for  dissection  than  now.  There  has  also  been 
a  suicide  or  two,  if  a  grewsome  theme  were  wanted.  There 
might  be  material  for  a  good  yarn  in  the  burning  of  Maine 
Hall,  'way  back  in  the  'twenties  and  again  one  night  in  the 
'thirties,  or  the  burning  of  the  President's  house  after  they 
had  had  a  big  row  over  his  resignation.  And  think  of  the 
chance  for  a  story  in  that  meeting  on  the  coast  of  Africa 
between  Commodore  Bridge  and  his  former  college  mate, 
Russwurm,  I  think  his  name  was, — the  only  negro  who 
ever  graduated  from  Bowdoin,  and  who  had  become  a  dig- 
nitary of  importance,  possibly  a  king,  among  his  own  people. 
And  there  was  the  outbreak  of  the  war — " 

"O,  that's  all  ancient  history,"  interrupted  Macfarlane. 
"The  best  Bowdoin  story  would  be  one  of  today  with  the 
hero  winning  the  Worcester  meet  or  a  big  football  game, 
and  his  girl  in  the  grandstand  holding  her  breath  all  the 
while.     There  is  no  story  to  wake  up  a  college  man  like  one 

373 


TALES    01?    BOWDOIN 

in  which  a  fellow  wins  glory  for  the  old  colleg^e  by  lining 
out  home  runs,  or  bucking  the  line  for  a  touchdown  or 
breaking  the  tape  at  the  finish.  That  sort  of  thing,  with  a 
vivid  picture  of  the  big  crowd  going  wild  as  the  plucky  hero 
snatches  victory  from  defeat,  makes  the  Old  Grad's  blood 
tingle  as  nothing  else  will.  And  I  guess  the  outside  public 
likes  it  as  well  as  any  kind  of  a  college  yam,  though  it  gives 
the  impression  that  college  life  is  about  all  athletics." 

"If  anybody  writes  about  Bowdoin  athletics,"  said  Wins- 
low,  "they  mustn't  forget  the  days  of  rowing.  There  are 
some  great  stories  told  of  those  victories  on  the  water, 
between  the  time  when  Tom  Reed  rowed  on  the  Andros- 
coggin and  the  last  class  race  when  '96  beat  '97  in  the  Spring 
of  '94.  Some  of  the  intercollegiate  victories  when  Bowdoin 
beat  even  Harvard  and  Yale  resulted  in  celebrations  here 
that  make  present  jollifications  seem  pretty  tame.  It  is  a 
pity  that  boating  had  to  be  given  up,  and  the  old  boathouse 
and  the  shells  go  to  wreck  and  ruin." 

"Well,  football  and  field  sports  have  more  than  taken 
rowing's  place  in  college  life,"  said  Macfarlane.  After  a 
pause  he  continued,  "Next  to  athletic  stories,  I  think  the 
story  of  undergraduate  pranks  and  deviltry  is  most  appre- 
ciated by  college  men,  though  this  kind  also  is  likely  to  give 
a  false  impression  to  those  outside  the  pale.  Now,  for 
instance,  there  is  a  splendid  chance  for  a  storiette  in  that 
episode  of  a  recent  Ivy  hop  when  a  Junior  brought  his  girl 
over  to  the  Chapel  here  at  intermission,  to  show  her  the 
picture  of  an  angel  that  he  declared  was  the  exact  image  of 
herself.  Some  of  the  boys  were  onto  it,  and — well,  I'll  tell 
you  the  whole  story  sometime,  if  you  have  never  heard  of  it. 
The  painting  is  that  of  the  Baptism,  third  one  on  the  left ; 
and  just  notice  that  dark-haired  angel  in  the  lower  part,  the 
next  time  any  of  you  forget  yourselves  and  go  to  chapel. 

374 


ONE    NIGHT    IN    JUNE 

Or,  if  a  prank  story  is  wanted,  it  mig-ht  deal  with  that  affair 
when  a  few  '96  fellows  locked  up  two  Fseshmen  in  the  tomb 
down  in  the  cemetery,  after  taking  them  down  to  the  river. 
It  made  a  lot  of  trouble,  but  probably  the  hazing  sounded 
worse  than  it  was.  ■  Then  I've  heard  an  alumnus  up  home 
tell  how  '80  lost  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  presidency  by  winning  the 
annual  Fall  field  day.  You  see,  they  had  only  one  man 
really  eligible  to  that  office  and  when  thev  celebrated  their 
field  day  victory,  somebody  accidentally  doctored  the  new 
cider  which  they  used,  and  they  over-celebrated.  But  the 
man  who  thereby  lost  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  presidency  was  game, 
and  declared  he  had  rather  have  his  fun  with  his  class  than 
hold  any  college  honor.  And  I've  heard  about  a  fellow  in 
'75  who  fell  off  the  roof  of  Maine  Hall — " 

"Now  wouldn't  that  jar  you!"  murmured  Mosher. 

"O,  it's  no  joke,"  continued  Macfarlane.  "His  name  was 
Hewes.  He  is  now  a  lawyer  over  in  Washington  county, 
and  a  good  one.  Workmen  were  repairing  the  roof  and  he 
was  up  there  looking  around  when  he  slipped  and  rolled 
over  the  edge  to  the  ground.  Never  fazed  him,  and  he 
was  as  good  as  new  in  an  hour  or  two.  Nobody  has  tried 
to  duplicate  the  feat,  though.  I  met  him  once,  on  a  Glee 
Club  trip." 

"Was  that  the  trip  when  you  were  jugged,  over  in 
Bangor?"  inquired  Tucker. 

"That  wasn't  Bangor;  it  was  in  Bath  that  I  joined  Bow- 
doin's  immortal  Convict  Club  to  which  so  many  good  men 
have  belonged.  It  wasn't  my  fault ;  the  cop  was  fresh,  you 
know." 

"O,  that's  always  the  way  of  it,"  assented  Tucker. 

"But,  to  continue,"  said  Macfarlane,  "there  would  be  a 
chance  for  a  great  story  on  the  days  when  it  was  fashion- 
able for  fellows  in  different  colleges  to  send  bell  tongues, 

375 


TALES    OF    BOWDOIN 

chapel  Bibles  and  such  things,  back  and  forth.  Once  the 
Colby  Sophomores  sent  a  bust  of  one  of  their  Presidents, 
Chaplin  or  Champlin,  down  here  to  Bowdoin.  Our  Prex 
didn't  see  the  joke,  and  accepted  the  gift  in  a  nice  little  note 
of  thanks  to  the  Colby  Prex.  Then  the  Colby  Prex  didn't 
have  the  heart  to  tell  him  that  it  was  only  a  piece  of  Sopho- 
moric  skylarking,  and  so  the  bust  remained  here  and  it  is 
here  now ;  over  in  Memorial,  I  think." 

"It  strikes  me  that  you  are  wandering  into  ancient  his- 
tory, yourself,"  said  Winslow.  "What  do  vou  think  of  this 
idea  of  a  book  of  Bowdoin  yarns?"  he  added,  turning  to 
Larry  Howard  who  had  been  lying  back  against  the  Chapel 
doors,  listening  to  the  distant  singing  and  taking  no  part  in 
the  chatter  of  his  companions.  Perhaps,  under  the  influence 
of  the  moonlight  which  affects  the  tides  of  the  heart  as  it 
does  those  of  the  sea,  his  mind  had  wandered  back  to  that 
memorable  day  during  the  previous  Summer's  vacation, 
when  he  had  induced  a  fond  and  trusting  mamma  to  allow 
her  daughter  to  accompany  him  from  a  not  far  away  shore 
resort  for  a  day's  inspection  of  the  campus,  deserted  but 
never  so  attractive  as  when  in  the  luxuriance  of  its  mid- 
summer foliage.  Perhaps  he  was  thinking, — who  could 
blame  him? — of  that  tour  of  the  Art  Building  when,  in  the 
seclusion  of  the  Assyrian  Sculpture  room,  the  bold  Junior 
had  poured  into  the  ears  of  the  maiden,  pink  ears  as  willing 
as  they  were  dainty,  a  story,  not  a  college  story,  but  one 
older  far  than  the  inscriptions  on  the  unheeded  tablets 
around  them.     Perhaps — . 

"What  do  I  think  of  it  ?"  he  repeated,  slowly  coming  out 
of  his  trance,  "Why,  I  think  it  is  a  great  idea  that  some- 
body ought  to  act  upon.  But  if  you  fellows  talked  all  night 
you  couldn't  mention  one  in  a  thousand  of  the  things  in 
Bowdoin's  history  around  which  good  stories  of  the  past  or 

376 


ONE    NIGHT    IN    JUNE 

present  could  be  written.  There  is  simply  no  limit  to  them, 
no  college  is  so  rich  in  opportunity  for  the  story-teller,  and 
the  man  who  tries  to  get  up  the  book  will  probably  find 
himself  buried  under  an  avalanche  of  desirable  contribu- 
tions. "But  1  also  think,"  he  added,  getting  up  with  a 
yawn,  "that  it  is  time  we  all  turned  in.  This  is  their  last 
song." 

True  enough,  the  boys  on  the  Art  Building  steps,  having 
sung  themselves  out,  were  giving  as  their  last  selection 
before  coming  over  to  the  End,  that  favorite  by  Harry 
Pierce  of  '96,  he  who  could  make  the  claim,  and  justify  it, 
of  kinship  with  Bowdoin's  greatest  singer: 

BOWDOIN  BEATA. 

When  bright  skies  were  o'er  us, 

And  life  lay  before  us, 
'Neath  Bowdoin's  pines  we  gathered  far  and  near, 

So  filling  our  glasses, 

And  pledging  all  classes. 
We  drink  a  health  to  Alma  Mater  dear. 

Chorus. 
Clink,  clink,  drink,  drink,  drink !  * 

Smash  the  glass  in  splinters  when  you're  done. 
Bowdoin  Beata,  O  dear  Alma  Mater, 

There  is  no  fairer  mother  'neath  the  sun. 

When  manhood  has  found  us. 

And  children  surround  us. 
Our  college  days  and  friends  we'll  still  recall. 

With  heartfelt  emotion. 

And  deathless  devotion, 
We'll  send  our  sons  to  Bowdoin  in  the  fall. 

Chorus. 

When  age,  gray  and  hoary. 

Has  filled  out  our  story, 
The  tender  mem'rles  swelling  back  again. 

Loyal  forever, 

Until  death  shall  sever. 
One  glass  to  Alma  Mater  we  shall  drain. 

Chorus. 

X  377 


TAI^ES    OF   BOWDOIN 


So,  comrades  together, 

In  fair  and  foul  weather, 
Your  glasses  fill  to  Bowdoin  and  her|fame. 

For  where  e'er  we  wander. 

Stronger  and  fonder, 
The  tend'rest  ties  shall  cling  about  her  name. 

CHOBU8. 


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